


Sweet Thunder and An Unromantic Hiatus (Reuploaded)

by magesticturtles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hipster!Zayn, M/M, Porn With Plot, Weird Plot Shit, hipster!niall, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magesticturtles/pseuds/magesticturtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Niall, they would have never known who I was without you. That first night, when I met<br/>you—I could have never dreamed that you’d do something like this for me. I would have<br/>never thought that you might come up with that stupid list, or that it would work out like it<br/>did. Niall,” Zayn says, his heart in his throat, “You don’t seem to understand that each and<br/>every time I say something like you’re my best friend, or that we fit together, I mean to say<br/>that I love you.”<br/>--<br/>In which aspringsuperstar!Niall and aspiringartist!Zayn meet at a party, create a list, which<br/>becomes their ticket to fame, and fall in love along the way.</p>
<p>Or, How To Be a One-Hit Wonder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Thunder and An Unromantic Hiatus (Reuploaded)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [y'all](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=y%27all).



> Hi! I originally uploaded this last year, however I thought it was really ridiculous and deleted it after a while. Reuploaded for greater justice, and because a lot of you missed it. Like, a lot more than I expected. So after careful consideration (and months of guilt) I've decided to put it back up, and I promise not to delete it again. Part of being a writer, for me at least, is publishing your work, even if you think it's terrible. That's not to say I wasn't happy with it -- I just thought it was weird af. Originally uploaded July 15, 2014.
> 
> read it on tumblr, if you prefer: http://zaycal.tumblr.com/post/55554230396/sweet-thunder-and-an-unromantic-hiatus

Zayn honestly doesn’t know why he still goes to these parties. Dancing with sweaty, horny and drunk ‘adults’ stuck in teenage bodies, all groping each other and trying to show off as much naked skin to as many strangers as possible is not exactly his idea of fun. But Zayn’s best friend is Louis Tomlinson, and Louis is popular and wild and just seems to love these giant parties, and Zayn loves Louis, so, by association, he loves these parties, too, and goes to them anyway.

Every time Zayn agrees to go to one of these functions, Louis promises to stay with him, and every time, Louis abandons Zayn to go party with the other teenage animals. Zayn doesn’t ever mind, though, or maybe he loves Louis too much to complain, and so he just finds something to do for a few hours while occasionally checking on his friend to make sure he isn’t halfway to Canada by now.

This party is no different than all the others. It’s only been two hours and already there are a bunch of drunken idiots making out on the lawn. Zayn gingerly steps over a couple of already-wasted girls going at it, girls who he’s seen in school and who he’s pretty sure are not lesbians anywhere else.

“Sorry…’scuse me,” he says repetitively as he steps over, around and away from random people trying to touch him in some way. Louis is long gone, but he’s alright; Zayn can see him chugging a few pints on the kitchen counter, a small crowd already forming. Smirking a bit at his popular friend, Zayn makes his way upstairs.

On the second floor, people are a bit calmer, a bit more pleasant, although that might be the fruition of the game of puff-puff-pass they’re playing. A few people wave hello to Zayn but most just ignore him completely. He smiles back to the ones that do grant him a pleasantry and continues on his way to an empty room. He usually has a sketchbook with him when Louis drags him to these things, and today he plans on completing his sketch on Batman.

Zayn opens the first door he sees, where, he’s partly unsurprised to see, a couple is making out heavily, clothes being stripped and hickeys being left on previously clear skin. He stands there for a moment before quickly shutting the door (the girl throws a high-heeled shoe at him—which he narrowly dodges—and screams get out, pervert! which Zayn thinks is a bit unfair because if you don’t want people to walk in on your fuck you really shouldn’t be doing it in such an innocent and public place—like a bathroom).

He continues on, taking care to knock or at least listen for moans before moving on to the next room.

Zayn reaches a bedroom all the way at the end of the hallway after a while, hearing only the gentle strums of a guitar (probably a CD from some indie hipster band no one’s ever going to be able to recognize) and a few murmuring voices. He figures it’s probably just some of the stoners inside, so he goes in; he definitely doesn’t mind the weed, and stoners are typically nice, anyway.

He makes his way quietly into the dark room, nodding at the kids who bother to say hey to him and closes the door behind him. He was right—there’s definitely the bitter stench of weed here, but he ignores it. The bedroom is wide enough that he knows that he won’t disturb anyone by turning on a light in the corner. The faint sound of guitar strumming still lingers in the room, not from a recording as Zayn had originally thought, but rather from a live person. 

Zayn sits all the way in a corner, pulling the string to turn on the lamp (and dimming it slightly when this action is met with hisses of protest from the other, higher inhabitants of the room). Pulling out his notebook and one of the charcoal pencils he carries with him at all times, he flips over countless drawings of Lois Lane and Tony Stark and Dr. Banner, heading straight for an uncompleted sketch of Batman speeding away in the Batmobile.

In thirty minutes, he’s too immersed in his drawing, too indulged in the sharp curves of the Batmobile to notice that the gentle strums of the guitar have gotten louder, and that someone’s standing right behind them.

“That looks really great,” an accent whispers close to his ear. Upon instinct, Zayn closes his sketchbook shut and hides it under his thigh, although the stranger has probably already seen it. He looks up to find a pair of blue eyes and the neck of a guitar staring him in the face.

“Your drawing,” stranger-with-blue-eyes says softly, as if that explains his sudden appearance.

“What?” Zayn says, mentally cursing himself for his slight inability to control the volume of his voice. A few fleeting glares are shot his way at the intensity of his tone.

It’s just that—Zayn is a really private person. And Zayn really doesn’t like anyone looking at his art, unless it’s Louis, or he wants someone to look at it. And right now, a stranger looking at his art at a party he doesn’t want to be at is not something he wants.

“It’s good,” the boy says again, nodding at the worn pages of the sketchbook under Zayn’s left thigh. “You’re a really good artist.”

“Oh…um…thanks,” Zayn says quietly, trying not to stare at the other boy’s eyes for too long. A bit of an awkward moment passes before the other kid hops up onto the desk with the lamp on it and starts strumming his guitar, oblivious once more to the noises surrounding him. Zayn watches him play; mesmerized by the way his fingers simply pluck and tug gently at the strings of the guitar.

“I’m Niall, by the way,” the boy—Niall, apparently—says as he plays.

“Zayn,” Zayn says back, still watching Niall.

Something moves on the other side of the room. Zayn and Niall both look up (Niall keeps playing) to see some guy on the bed, face down in the pillows.

“Is he dead?” Zayn says, unusually calm.

Niall frowns for a moment, a crease appearing in his forehead. “I dunno.” He takes off the Yankees snapback that sits on his head and throws it at the figure on the bed. “Oi, mate!” he says as the hat hits his target. “Are ya dead?” His accent is strong, Zayn notices, possibly a side affect of the marijuana, although there’s something else there—Irish.

A low grunt comes from the figure. Niall turns back to Zayn, grinning toothily. “He’s fine,” he assures before continuing his musical serenade. Zayn himself gives a bit of a smile before leaning his head against the wall, just enjoying the music.

Niall closes his eyes as he makes music; his fingers must know every millimeter of that guitar by the way he plays. Niall, Zayn thinks, is pretty, in a guy way. He has bright blue eyes, not quite the ocean and not quite the sky, but something in between, or maybe bluer than those. His hair is dyed, but when he lifts his hand to push hair out of his eyes—which he does every so often, whether or not he realizes it—brunet roots poke out of their hiding spot to play.

He’s thin too, not in an unhealthy way, or a super-skinny way, just thin. Niall’s height is just average, Zayn can tell, even if he is sitting. He’s not too short but he’s definitely not as tall as Zayn, who is close to touching the six-foot mark. Niall’s fingers are graceful and careful on the strings of his guitar.

Suddenly the thought that Niall looks perfect rushes through Zayn’s head, and he can’t help but agree with it. He’s just playing his guitar and his pale face is expressionless and at the same time you can see every emotion possible—his hair is ruffled without cause and his Supra-clad feet are just swinging and Zayn just gets the urge to draw Niall.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s subconsciously reaching for the charcoal pencils behind his ear and his sketchbook until a fresh, blank page is open on his lap. He stares at it for just a moment before, almost thoughtlessly, he puts his pencil to the paper and starts drawing.

Zayn is almost done with Niall’s delicate facial features when he realizes that (while the talking in the background resumes), the sweet chords of the guitar have stopped and Niall is looking over his shoulder again. This time, though, Zayn doesn’t bother to hide the sketch, although he’s uncomfortable again, because a) it is Niall’s portrait and b) Niall has probably been staring for over a minute so there’s no point in trying to conceal his work.

(And it’s also because he’s actually kind of proud of this piece of work.)

“Is—is that me?” Niall says in an excited, hushed whisper.

Zayn sits up a little straighter as Niall scoots next to him, his guitar leaning precariously on the wall. Niall takes the sketchbook carefully from Zayn’s lap and looks in awe at the careful drawing.

“Well—that depends, do you like it?” Zayn says nervously.

“Like it?” Niall looks at Zayn as if he’s insane. “Do I like it, Zayn; did you just ask me if I liked it? I absolutely love it!”  
Zayn smiles wide. “Then yes, it’s you.”

“That’s so amazing,” Niall whispers, grinning now. “But what if I didn’t like it?”

“Oh, it still would have been you, but I would have felt like a creeper.” Niall laughed at that; his laugh is like crystal, light and clear and distinct. It sounded like something Zayn would draw—but could you draw a laugh? Even if it was the most beautiful and visual thing you’ve ever heard, could you draw an invisible thing?

“Are you in school around here?” Niall asks, leaning back. “I’ve never seen you here before.”  
Zayn shakes his head. “My best friend Louis goes to school near this place and is always dragging me to parties up here. Do you know him?”

“Louis Tomlinson? Yeah, most everyone knows him around here. And forcing people to places they don’t want to be is definitely a Louis thing.” Niall smiles, showing off white teeth that, now that Zayn looks, are coated in plastic and wires—braces. He should look ridiculous. He’s probably in his twenties, and he still has braces.

Why doesn’t he look more ridiculous?  
They don’t talk for a little while after that, Niall continuing to play as Zayn draws. This time Niall sings a song with his piece, something very familiar to Zayn:

What am I supposed to do  
When the best part of me was always you?  
What am I supposed to say  
When I’m all choked up and you’re okay?

I’m fallin’ to pieces  
I’m fallin’ to pieces

Zayn catches himself singing along and smiles because he’s always really loved The Script, and Breakeven is just one of his favorites. He smiles even wider when he finds Niall staring at him with something close to wonder in his eyes.

“You like The Script, too?”

———————

From there they talk for hours—literally hours. The party is starting to die out when it’s four in the morning and the neighbors are seriously walking to the house and threatening to call the police. Louis passed out somewhere because Zayn honestly didn’t want to leave Niall, who came with his friend Liam.

Zayn learns a lot about Niall in the short amount of time he spends with him. Like the fact that Niall can sing—really, really sing. And that he has a brother. His parents are divorced. He’s twenty years old and sort of bisexual, although he’s still working out his feelings for both genders. He’s been playing the guitar since before he could even talk properly. He’s originally from Mullingar, but his accent’s still incredibly strong even though he’s lived in Wolverhampton so long, which he’s glad for; he really like having a little piece of his home with him everywhere, even if people often complain that they can barely hear him. He met Liam when he was just nine and they’ve been best friends ever since. His favorite band is The Script, although he’s got a bit of an unhealthy obsession with Bon Jovi and Michael Bublé. He wants to write music and make it to the top of the charts some day, but until then he’s studying English until he knows what he really wants to do. And—

Well, Niall really likes to talk.

Zayn finds himself telling Niall all sorts of things—which is surprising because you would not believe how shy and extroverted he normally is; but somehow, this bright and shiny guitar player from Ireland gets him to say things in five minutes that he couldn’t muster the courage to voice in almost fifteen years of friendship with Louis. He tells Niall that he’s always dreamed of being an artist—to have people fight and beg for his artwork. He’s also studying English until he figures out what he wants to do (seems like English is everyone’s default), and that he’s “pretty into dick,” as he words it. He tells Niall about his parents, his sisters, his cousins, his—

Well, maybe Zayn likes to talk more than he originally thought he did.

When Louis is finally able to drag him out of the house and back home, Niall quickly scribbles his number onto Zayn’s forearm.

Not that Niall dreams that Zayn will actually call.

And Zayn doesn’t think he’ll call, either, until he finds himself dialing the number into his phone and pressing the green call button.

This tiny, seemingly insignificant action starts The Asshole List.

Let’s fast forward.

———————

It’s November, two months after Zayn meets Niall at the party so long ago. They’ve become fast friends, spending nearly every waking hour with each other and it’s official, Louis’ sort of been replaced as Zayn’s best friend.

(Not that Louis minds at all. While Zayn and Niall have been frolicking around together, he’s taken a bit of an interest in Niall’s friend Liam.)

The Asshole List comes up late in the day, after Louis and Liam have gone on their (fifth? sixth? eighth?) date. Niall and Zayn have exhausted the computer, television set and their phones and are now left lying on Zayn’s bed with nothing to do.

Then Niall brings up the party.

“Do you remember the party that we met at, Zayn?” Niall asks abruptly. Zayn likes the way Niall says his name. Zen.

“Vaguely,” Zayn replies sarcastically, and Niall punches him playfully in the arm. “Ow. Why?”

“Remember how you talked about your dreams? And my dreams? How you want to be an artist and I want to be a musician?”

“Yeah, Niall?” Zayn says. “What about it?”

“I’ve been thinking lately…what if we do it for real?”

Zayn sits up from his lethargic position. “What are you on about, Niall?”

“I’m just sayin’, you know.” His voice is excited now, like he has an idea. “You and I both have things we want to do, even if we’re not totally serious about them. So what if we just—I dunno, play around with it?”

At this point Zayn is completely lost and is starting to wonder if Niall’s been drinking a bit. “Seriously, mate; I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”  
Niall gets off the bed and paces the room. His face is tinged pink and his eyes are alive with an excitement Zayn can’t quite place. “I mean we should do it!”

“Do what?”

“Do the things we’ve always dreamed of; you should be an artist and I should be a musician!” Niall turns to Zayn now, who thinks his friend is completely off his rocker.

“Are you high?”

Niall shakes his head dismissively, sitting back on the bed at Zayn’s feet. “What, no. I’m being dead serious; you and I should become famous. But not really famous. Just, you know. Undeservingly famous, like Paris Hilton. Or Paris Jackson.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Zayn laughs, willing to indulge the blonde, even for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about this for ages, Zayn,” says Niall, smiling brightly. “We’ll create a bucket list; call it an Asshole List, if you will, and it consists of things that revolve around the idea of getting famous—for you, being an artist and for me, being a singer.”

“A bucket list? How would that work?” Zayn asks. He’s not quite ready to admit it, but Niall’s plan is actually kind of interesting, in a dumb, only Niall sort of way.  
But then again, Zayn thinks everything about Niall is sort of interesting in a dumb, only Niall sort of way.

“Like—” Niall gets up again—the boy can’t sit still, honestly—and grabs a piece of paper and a pencil from Zayn’s desk without asking (Zayn doesn’t mind). “We mix a bit of your ideas and mine and—well, let me just show you, okay?”

The room is silent for a few minutes while Niall scribbles quickly across the page, his hand occasionally smearing the graphite of the pencil in the most endearing way. After a while, Niall hands him the paper, a bit of black on the edge of his palm.

The Asshole List (or How to Be a One-Hit Wonder)

1\. Write/draw something that’s not even really worth listening to/seeing, but is still somehow going to get a lot of attention

2\. Title your work something really hipster and bullshitty, like Sweet Thunder or An Unromantic Hiatus

3\. Become elevator music/have some snooty hat trick buy your art for an unnaturally high price

4\. Get interviewed by some obviously hipster network (that’s magazine, radio, television talk show, etc..), but remember to be nice this time around

5\. Create a Twitter/Instagram account and post hipster bullshit 99% of the time

6\. After a few short weeks, change your attitude completely: dress, look, walk, talk and act like a total douchebag 

7\. In your first mainstream interview, act totally different than you did in your first hipster interview (basically like a complete asshole) and promote the boycotting of anything mainstream, including yourself

8\. Be a total dick and constantly contradict yourself by buying tons of too-expensive shit

9\. Act like you’re better than everyone while secretly plotting your own demise

10\. Do something outrageous and name-shaming in public, effectively completing your cycle as one-hit wonder and disgracing your fame

Zayn looks up from the paper after reading the steps twice over, an amused expression on his face. Niall is looking at him apprehensively, worrying his bottom lip. “What do you think of it?” he asks slowly, like he’s afraid of Zayn’s answer.

“Niall, I’m pretty sure that bullshitty is a word that you made up,” Zayn says, shaking his head, but he smiles anyway.

Niall takes back the paper. “I swear it’s real—well, depending on when you use it. But that’s not the point. Do you think we could actually do it?”

“Become one-hit wonders? Probably,” Zayn says, shrugging. “Not sure if I’ve got enough in me to actually do it, though.”

“You and I could do it together,” Niall says, and the look in his eyes tells Zayn that he’s really not joking, that he really does want to do this. “We could both become one of those famous people that really don’t deserve to be famous together!”

“Like a Kardashian?” Zayn chuckles, and he’s relieved when Niall laughs as well.

“Yes, exactly, like a Kardashian! Except we probably won’t have a sex tape,” Niall adds in an afterthought.

“And we’ll know when to get out of everyone’s lives,” Zayn says. Niall laughs, throwing his head back, the lighting in the room making his braces glitter lightly.

“So what do you say?” Niall asks. In all of two months that Zayn’s known Niall, he’s never seen him look so serious about anything.

And honestly, Zayn’s not too sure that it’s physically possible say no to Niall.

——————— 

Almost immediately, they set out on the first step: Write/draw something that’s not even really worth listening to/seeing, but is still somehow going to get a lot of attention.

This is easier said then done for Zayn. When he draws, he makes it good, even if the only person besides himself who’s going to see it is Louis. He knows that one-hits are always famous for something that’s not very good, but still somehow attractive, and the thought of the first artwork that he releases into the public won’t be worth anything to anyone with half a brain makes him rather uncomfortable.

In the weeks following, Zayn creates twenty-five sketches, all of which are deemed too good to truly make it by hipster standards by either himself or Niall or Louis.  
Niall, on the other hand, is breezing through his part, already tackling two songs in no time at all. But Zayn can’t do things the way Niall does; he can’t just sit at his desk and force inspiration to come to him. Zayn needs to be unrestricted to draw, needs to be able to just think freely. Sometimes he’s upside-down or walking backwards, or maybe art is the furthest thing from his mind, but when he doesn’t try so hard, inspiration almost always comes to him.

After a month, it arrives.

It comes in the form of Niall’s hat.

The drawing itself has nothing to do at all with the green Celtics hat, but that stupid cap that he’s always wearing gives him the idea.

The sketch? It’s a pattern of DNA. It literally has nothing to do with Niall’s hat, which is why Niall’s so confused when Zayn shows him the drawing and tells him what inspired it.  
But Zayn patiently explains to him that it works, at least in his head: Niall wears the hat all the time; Niall is Irish; the hat is green; green is the color most associated with nature; Zayn thinks of spring when he thinks of nature; springs are also in pens; pens have ink; ink creates stains; stains need to be washed out; to wash things you need water; water can come from the sky as rain; the sky is generally blue; Niall’s eyes are blue; blue eyes are caused by genetic mutations; genetics; DNA.

“That looks like the DNA pattern,” Niall says, eyebrow furrowed. “You know, the double helix shit they teach you in Biology.”

“It is the DNA pattern,” Zayn replies. In front of them is his canvas, where a simple oil painting of a DNA strand is displayed.

“I don’t get it,” Niall frowns. “What the hell does this have to do with my Celtics hat?”

Zayn sighs and sits on the sofa next to his blonde friend. “Honestly? I have no fucking clue. But it looks good, right?” Niall nods and smiles that brilliant, breathtaking smile.

“Right,” he says, playing a little with Zayn’s hair. Zayn doesn’t let anyone do that, ever, except for Niall. Niall is, of course, a special exception. “So what are you calling it?”

“An Unromantic Hiatus. Because that’s what you wrote on the list, remember?” Niall smiles even wider, if possible, and Zayn just wants to gather up an army of people because he thinks Niall’s smile is beautiful, and everyone else should see it, too. “So what about you?” Zayn asks after a moment of him simply staring at his friend. “If I’m An Unromantic Hiatus, that would make you Sweet Thunder, wouldn’t it?”

Niall smiles and lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, I guess it would. Although, technically that title doesn’t really work with my song, but I suppose it’s all fine. Adds to the whole hipster thing, I guess.” Niall opens his guitar care and pulls out his Taylor. He’s always saying that he needs a new guitar, and Zayn’s been saving up for the past few weeks to get him a new one. It probably won’t be very good—Zayn works at a freakin’ coffee shop, for God’s sakes, the hourly wages aren’t brilliant—but the one he has his eye on for Niall will definitely be better than what he has now.

Niall starts playing, blue eyes shining as he strums his fingers gently along the strings. He starts to sing.

She has the perfect type on her brain  
To the rhythm of the fast life  
She can’t be bothered to blame  
The media’s old strife

She comes through like a gust of wind  
Gotta hang tight, ‘cause she’ll hold you in

She’s the typical scene-teen-drama-queen  
No one knows just where she got the means  
I wish I never before she was fast  
She never gave me the time of day when she passed

Her name is Wendy  
Wendy  
Oh yeah!

Oh, oh  
Oh, oh  
Oh, oh

Niall stops playing suddenly and there’s a look of apprehension in his eyes. “You hate it don’t you? I knew you would—it’s too fast isn’t it? Or maybe it’s her name?” Niall runs his hand through his hair, making his snapback fly off of his head.

“Niall,” Zayn says, but Niall is too far gone in his own worry to hear him.

“Maybe I should change it from Wendy to, I don’t know, something that sounds more like a man-eater’s name, like Penny or Brittany.”

“Niall,” he tries again, a little louder this time, but to no avail.

“Or maybe I should just—”

“Niall!” Zayn says, and finally Niall stops and listens to him talk. “I think your song is fine. I think it’s wonderful, actually.”

And Niall lets out a breath like he can’t believe that Zayn’s just said that his song is wonderful. He smiles again and then relaxes on the couch next to Zayn and he honestly looks so wonderfully at ease, like the night they first met, that all Zayn wants to do really is kiss him.

But before Zayn can so much as act on that thought, Niall is standing up and pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. Zayn realizes that it’s the list when he unfolds it, seeing the familiar untidy scrawl. Niall pulls a pen from Zayn’s chest pocket (there’s so much that he lets this boy get away with) and crosses out the first thing on the list.

“Two down,” he says triumphantly, sticking the pen in his back pocket. Zayn winces a little bit—that’s a traditional French fountain pen—but he lets it slide (of course he does; it’s Niall). “Create bullshit and title it bullshit.”

“And only eight more to go.” Niall looks at Zayn. “Ready for step three, Zaynie?”

“What was three, again?” Zayn asks. Niall’s eyebrows furrow a bit before he unfolds the list again.

“Uh…for me step three is to become elevator music and for you, it’s to have a snooty hat trick buy your art for an unnaturally high price.” Niall’s frown deepens when he finishes reading.

Zayn frowns too and looks over Niall’s shoulder at the list, gently taking it from him. “Now how in the hell do we go about doing that?”

———————

The third task proves to be even more difficult than the first. Zayn and Niall really don’t know how to get noticed per se, as the biggest crowd Niall’s ever played for is a group of thirty or forty stoners at a Woodstock concert in Florida, and the only person that has ever seen Zayn’s artwork besides Niall is Louis.

A week after they’re actually making some progress. Niall encourages Zayn to go to an art show. Zayn thinks it over for a few hours before he obliges. He’s never actually been to an art show before, and he’s kind of curious to know if snooty rich people really do that stuff, or if that’s another lie invented by the movies.

Niall signs him up at a local gallery as soon as Zayn says yes, promising the raven-haired boy that he’ll go with him. Zayn’s glad, because he’s nervous as hell and could definitely use someone there. The show is on a Saturday at noon, which is normally when Louis will drag him to a party, but this weekend Louis doesn’t even invite him, which would hurt if Zayn cared at all about those idiotic frat parties. Louis’ been taking Liam in Zayn’s place anyway, and from what Zayn can tell, Liam likes to party.

On Friday night, the Friday before the show, Zayn is sweating bullets. He’s nervous as hell for this art show and he’s been obsessing to both Niall and Louis over his painting, what to wear and how to act, because the gallery Niall’s signed him up for his fancy as hell, like something out of a Sandra Bullock film, complete with tall men in tuxedos holding silver trays and asking would you like an hors d’oeuvre in really posh, Northern voices.

Zayn is not posh. He’s never had an hors d’oeuvre in his life.

He calls Niall because (no surprise) Louis is on another date with Liam, and can’t exactly help him right now. Zayn stresses and freaks out on the phone to Niall for a few minutes before he hears a doorbell ringing and wouldn’t you know, there’s Niall in front of his very eyes.

Zayn stares between Niall and the phone for a moment before he shoves his phone to the side and ushers him in; it’s raining outside and it’s probably below forty degrees tonight—and Jesus Christ, Niall walked here from his dorm, which is at least five miles away from the apartment Zayn and Louis share.

“What are you doing here, Nialler?” Zayn says wearily. He does appreciate what he’s done, though, especially since no one else has ever gone to such great lengths to see him before—but he really wishes that while they were on the phone, Niall had asked him to come over instead, because Zayn really doesn’t want to see Niall catching a cold over him.

“You sounded like you needed a friend, Zee,” Niall says, sniffing a little as he smiles. “And I’d like to think I’m one of your best friends, so here I am.” Niall looks up at him in an endearing way that sort of gets under Zayn’s skin, because how can anyone stand being so cute all the time?

“You are my best friend,” Zayn assures him, and Niall flashes him one of his adorable, stupid grins. “It still doesn’t mean you should go around catching colds. Why didn’t you ask me to come over or pick you up?”

“Because you needed me right now,” Niall says, rolling his eyes as if this is the answer to everything. “And anyway,” he presses on before Zayn can say anything, “I need to reassure you in the comfort of your own home. It’s therapeutic, I swear.”

“Really?” Zayn says skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Niall nods.

“Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

“Niall, you study music.”

The blonde airily waves away Zayn’s words, wrapping himself up in a blanket that he has strewn across the couch. He had almost forgotten that Niall is sopping wet from coming over to see him.

“Do you want something to wear?” Zayn says. “You’re still wet and I’d feel awful if you caught a cold. I’ll stick your stuff in the dryer, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, shrugging. “If it’s not too much trouble.” He kicks off his shoes and starts to pull his pants down around to his ankles.

Zayn has to physically fight to keep his eyes trained on Niall’s face as he stands, almost completely naked in his living room. He takes Niall’s wet clothes without looking down. 

“Are your boxers alright?” he calls over his shoulder as he walks down the hall to the laundry room. He’s actually hoping they aren’t, and that Niall will have to stand naked in the house.

“Yeah, they’re fine!” Niall calls back, much to Zayn’s disappointment. “Hey, Zayn? Do you mind making me a cup of tea?”

Zayn smiles a bit as he chucks Niall’s clothes in the dryer and turns it on, picking up a few of Louis’ clothes as he walks out of the room; Louis won’t mind—it’s not like he really wears all the clothes he has, and he has so many that he probably won’t even notice that a few have gone missing.

“Sure, I’ll make you tea,” he says upon returning to the living room. Niall begins sneezing as he reaches for Louis’ clothes. “See, that’s what you get for walking five miles in the rain,” Zayn scolds as he hands him the shorts and t-shirt and walks out.

“Only for you, babe!” Niall shouts laughingly as Zayn walks to the kitchen. He almost trips over his own feet when Niall calls him babe.

Zayn comes back with two steaming mugs of tea a few minutes later, setting one in front of Niall, who is stretched across the couch in Louis’ shorts and a striped t-shirt, and good god, he looks better in Louis’ clothes than Louis himself does.

“So about the art show,” Niall says, sipping delicately at his tea. “I honestly don’t understand why you’re so nervous.”

“You don’t understand why I’m—” Zayn says incredulously, shifting a bit closer to Niall as he sets his mug on the ground. “Niall, have you seen the place? It is massive. The space for my exhibit is bigger than my bedroom. I took a look inside this morning—tons of people, and all of them were in really fancy clothing and shoes and wearing jewelry that costs more than my car. My fucking car, Niall. I’m not going to fit in there. The fanciest thing I own is a t-shirt with a picture of a suit on it. It has a nametag. Do you know what it says, Niall? Hello, my name is sexy and I know it. I don’t think I should even go anymore.”

“Calm down, Zee,” Niall says lightly. He sets his mug on the coffee table and turns completely to face Zayn fully, crossing his legs Indian-style. “Listen to me: you have to go. You have to do this. I’m going to be right there the entire time to help you, make sure you don’t stumble over your words, get you water, whatever you might need. You’re gonna do just fine, I promise you. You can dominate a room, Zayn. You’ll walk right in there and tell them what inspired you to paint An Unromantic Hiatus, and you’ll do it beautifully.” Niall speaks earnestly, and Zayn wants to believe him, but he’s just so damn nervous.

Niall suddenly reaches over and kisses Zayn on the forehead, a little kiss that still manages to make Zayn’s heart flutter.

“I swear, Zaynie,” Niall whispers against his hair, “When we walk out of there tomorrow, you’re going to be a star.”

Zayn’s glad that Niall can’t see his face at the moment, because he’s blushing and grinning like an idiot; all because Niall’s just called him Zaynie.

———————

Light bursts through Zayn’s living room window when he gets up in the morning, making him groan. His alarm is working—the annoyingly loud ring tone coming from his phone makes assures him of that.

He shifts and sits up, crying out a bit as he tries to stretch the kinks out of his back from sleeping on the couch. The vacant sofa cushion next to him still smells like Niall; like vanilla body wash and manly aftershave, a contradiction that makes Zayn laugh.

Zayn drove Niall back home last night, because the little blonde was already racking up sneezes that made his whole body shudder and shake like a window pane in thunderstorm. Zayn attempted to apologize several times for possibly maybe getting him sick, although Niall waved him off every time. He dropped Niall off at his residence hall with one last apology and fell asleep as soon as he got back home.

Now it’s eight thirty in the morning and Zayn has to get ready. If you ask him, this time is ungodly (he normally doesn’t get up until one or two in the afternoon. He took special sure to put all afternoon classes on his schedule), but the galleria requires that all submitters arrive before show time to set up their exhibits and prepare for potential buyers. Zayn calls Niall once, but no one answers; he doesn’t bother about it, just assumes he’s taking a shower or getting ready or something of the sort.

The art gallery is about two hours away, and Zayn needs to get there at least thirty minutes earlier than twelve, so he quickly takes a shower and dresses as best as he can (as it turns out, he does have a suit and tie hidden somewhere, although it is just a cinch too small; he’ll live). He quickly butters some toast and tucks his easel and oil painting carefully into his car (he doubts he’d be more careful with his own child) and drives to the gallery, wincing at every bump that jolts his painting the slightest bit.  
He arrives with ten minutes to spare. Zayn signs in on the sheet at the unattended desk and walks down the hallway and through the door with a sign taped on it: Art Exhibit, Room Reserved for the Participants of the Wolverhampton Art Show on Saturday, November 17.

He’s glad to see he’s not the only one there, and that he’s not the only one in ridiculous clothing. There are probably twenty or thirty other people there, all dressed in suits or blouses or dresses or skirts and Zayn’s never really noticed how many options women have when it comes to formalwear before now.

Zayn walks further into the room until he finds the sheet of paper with his name on. His exhibit is at the end, next to a girl with bright orange hair and multiple piercings in her face. It’s almost laughable because her dress is a ridiculously childish shade of pink and actually has a skirt that frills at the end.

No one is here yet, but the show doesn’t open until noon anyway. Zayn feels a little bit awkward compares to everyone else—he only has the one painting, while there are people around him who are having trouble fitting all their artwork in their own spaces.

With a little less than five minutes to kill, Zayn calls Niall, who was supposed to be here already. He doesn’t let himself stress when he reaches the voicemail box; instead he calls Louis, who was supposed to bring Liam along with him.

“Hello?” Louis’ voice sounds a bit breathless over the phone. Maybe it’s Zayn’s imagination.

“Hey, Lou!” Zayn says guiltily. He hasn’t really properly talked to Louis since he started the list with Niall, but the last time they had talked, Louis had promised to bring Liam and visit him at the galleria.

“Wha—oh. Hey, Zayn,” Louis says, and this time Zayn’s positive that his voice is breathier than usual. “What’s up?”

“I thought you said you were going to bring Liam and come see me down at the art gallery,” Zayn says slowly. He hears a gasp on the other end and groans. “You forgot, didn’t you, Louis?”

“N-no, Zee, I swear I didn’t forget! It’s just that—ugh—I’m running a little bit, um, l-late,” Louis gasps. Zayn rolls his eyes, and is about to say something when he hears another voice on Louis’ end of the phone.

“You like the way I do that, don’t you, Louis? Like the way I lick you just right?”

Zayn blushes and nearly drops his phone. “Louis…is that—is that Liam? What’s going on?” he manages to say after a few seconds of shocked silence. Louis gives a shaky laugh that’s more of a moan.

“C’mon, Zee, I know you’re not thick. Liam’s here…I’m making…uh, n-noises…we’re alone—”

“Please don’t tell me you’re not having sex right at this moment,” Zayn says, his voice barely above a whisper. Louis gives another laugh.

“Well, you don’t have to worry, we’re not, not exactly. It’s more of a—more of a pre-show blowjob exchange,” Louis moans into the mic again, and Zayn actually pulls the phone away from his ear.

“You guys better get here!” he hisses into the phone, and he disgustedly ends the call when he’s responded to with more moans.

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, messing up his painstakingly styled quiff in the process. He takes his phone out and calls Niall once more; people are already starting to file in, men and women dressed better than Zayn will ever be able to afford filling the room and browsing the artwork around him.

Once again, Niall’s phone goes to voicemail, making Zayn groan in frustration. He ends the call, not bothering to leave a message and turns to the many spectators who have already come up to his exhibit, all gazing at the painting.

“Pardon me, young man,” says a woman with fine brown hair and blue eyes wearing a tight blue dress. She fits his description of rich and snooty perfectly—she’s wearing white gloves that reach her elbow and sipping wine. “Can you tell me who created this piece?”

“Uh, me,” Zayn says, glancing at his painting. “I did, Zayn Malik.”

“Zayn Malik indeed,” she agrees. “Do tell, what do you call it?”

“It’s called An Unromantic Hiatus.”

“An Unromantic Hiatus,” she repeats, her eyes lighting up strangely. She waves her hand behind her without turning around. “George? George! Come here; tell me what you think of this.”

A short, old and balding man wearing a bowler hat who actually has a fucking monocle waddles over. He straightens the jacket of his tuxedo as he surveys the painting; Zayn can see many gold rings glittering on his stubby, fat fingers.

“It’s quite…as the young kids say these days, retro,” he says after a few minutes. Zayn fights the urge to roll his eyes, because he doesn’t know anyone who says the word retro, unless Louis’ being ironic or sarcastic.

“Yes, that’s quite what I was thinking,” the woman agrees immediately. “You—” she snaps her fingers at Zayn “—how much do you want to sell this for?”

“Don’t give her a price yet!” Someone else says. Zayn looks up and is incredibly surprised to see that a large crowd has formed in front of his work, all staring at An Unromantic Hiatus as though it was painted by the gods.

“Yeah, old Margaret will cheat you out of all your hard work!” Another man says, and a murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd.

“I’ll give you five thousand pounds for it!”

“Hang her five thousand—I’ll give you ten!”

And suddenly Zayn is being overwhelmed with offers of hundreds of thousands of pounds worth for his painting. He really doesn’t know how to respond to it all—people are arguing amongst each other over price and he can hardly believe that people actually like the thing, can’t believe that people are willing to pay such outrages amounts from an oil painting of a DNA strand.

He really wishes Niall was here, because Niall’s good at advising Zayn on who can help him best. But as he looks out into the sea of people who have gathered around him, he can’t find the familiar Irish face, and he’s about to panic when—

“Hey,” a soft voice whispers into his ear, making him jump a little. Zayn whips around and there’s Niall, in all his blonde-haired, blue-eyed glory, wearing a rather marvelous and fitting suit. He looks wonderful, although his nose is a bit red and he looks slightly paler than usual. He’s probably sick from last night. 

“Nialler!” Zayn says, and he doesn’t think before he wraps him up in a bear hug that could put his mother to shame, resting his chin on Niall’s head. “I thought you’d bailed on me, mate, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Niall laughs into Zayn’s chest, which makes him feel oddly warm inside. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Zaynie. And I hope you don’t mind—I brought a demo CD of my music. The album’s called Sweet Thunder, of course. I was recording all the songs this morning, that’s what took me so long to get here.”

Zayn shakes his head and lets Niall go. “No, I don’t mind at all, Niall. Without you I never would have mustered up the courage to come here and look what happened—people are actually fighting over my artwork. My artwork, Nialler!”

The blonde smiles broadly as he looks around the room, but it quickly fades at the sight of the chaotic scene. “Well, this simply won’t do,” he mutters, and for some reason, Zayn thinks of a line from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. He watches as Niall takes his demo CD out of his case and puts it into a stereo set in the corner of Zayn’s exhibit. Niall pulls up one of the folding chairs next to Zayn’s painting and stands on it.

“Excuse me!” Niall shouts from his place on the chair, and almost immediately everyone shuts up to listen to him.

“Hello, all! My name is Niall Horan. Most of you are arguing over this piece, An Unromantic Hiatus, as painted by my best friend, Zayn Malik, is that safe to say?” Niall pauses as a collective sigh of agreement rings in the room. “That’s great, we want you to like it—I mean, why you wouldn’t would be beyond me, it’s amazing!” Niall smiles down at Zayn, who smiles back, blushing furiously.

“But we want you to be civilized, okay? No shouting matches, as this is a very fancy establishment complete with guys carrying plates of caviar—look, there goes one now,” Niall adds, pointing to one of the men in tuxes, who is indeed offering around tiny bowls of caviar.

“If you’re gonna be loud, I’ll advise you to take it outside,” Niall continues. “And if you have any questions, take them to me; you shouldn’t bother the mastermind behind this piece with petty questions. If you can’t find me, ask around for the blonde one, someone will find me. Oh, and happy buying!”

Niall jumps off the chair and smiles broadly at Zayn, who laughs a little. “I can’t believe you just said that to them,” he says shakily. Niall rolls his eyes.

“You’ve got to show them who is the boss, Zaynie. Otherwise they’ll never take you seriously,” Niall says airily.

“Well, you definitely showed them,” Zayn sighs, watching as the attendees resume arguing over An Unromantic Hiatus, albeit much quieter than they were before. “But why can’t I answer my own questions?”

Niall shrugs. “Makes you seem much more important. Like a real douchebag, you know, can’t be bothered to answer his own questions, and douchebaggery was one of the main priorities on the list. More publicity and douchebaggery—kills two birds with one stone, you know?”

Zayn smiles and walks with Niall to the table of food in the back of the room. Some of the other participants in the art show look at him sourly; perhaps it’s jealousy for getting all the attention. Whatever the reason, it just makes him smile wider.

He plucks some fruit of the table and pops a few grapes in his mouth as Niall ravenously inhales half a plate of shrimp. They’re about to go back to his exhibit when Niall stop him with a hand on his shoulder and leans over, whispering into Zayn’s ear.

“And by the way—crowds aren’t the only way I know how to take charge.”

And that shouldn’t be such a turn-on to Zayn, the way Niall says it and the way he saunters away shouldn’t make his pants a bit tighter than they already were, but damn if it doesn’t.

When Zayn’s little—ahem—problem has calmed down, he starts to wonder if it was really Niall who could have possibly meant something so dirty. Maybe he meant something more innocent, but Zayn’s mind twisted it into something more erotic.

Yeah. That’s it.

He joins the crowd, where Niall is gracefully taking questions and recording offers. He looks up, catching Zayn’s eye for a moment and smiles broadly at him, and it’s so innocent  
that Zayn is almost sure that he imagined the smut behind that last comment. He joins Niall at his place in front, who immediately informs him of the current situation.

“I’ve narrowed everything down,” he explains, taking Zayn to a more secluded corner and showing him his notes. “There are three offers you need to decide from—Margaret and George Chandler, who have since gone up to twenty thousand; Jenna Hayward, who’s only offering fifteen, but her husband owns one of the largest art retail networks in the world, she’ll put in a good word for you; and Laurence Merrick-Montgomery, who’s willing to go up to twenty thousand, and he owns a huge home décor catalog, he might be able to get you a spot in there.”

“Jesus Christ, Niall,” Zayn breathes, looking over the paper. “How did you manage to—?”

Niall shakes his head impatiently. “It was easy, these old bats will do anything to make a little money, even if it’s invest a lot. Which do you think works best for you?”

Zayn looks at the paper again. “I don’t know, Nialler, what’s your take on this?”

“I think you can get the best deal by going with Jenna. It’s not the most amount of money, but her husband can get people from all around the world begging for your work, and believe me, you’ll make more with them than you ever will with the Chandlers or with Laurence Merrick-Montgomery.”

“Right,” Zayn says, folding up the paper and handing it back to Niall. “Let’s do it.”

Niall looks up, smiling. “Really? You’re going with Jenna, you’re taking my advice?”

Zayn nods. “Of course I am, Niall, I trust you.” He can’t contain his own grin as Niall breaks out into a gigantic smile. “C’mon, let’s go tell Miss Hayward-badass we’re accepting her offer.”

Niall laughs at that and leads him out of their corner and back toward the chair where he’d stood to make his first announcement. “Everyone! May I have your attention, again?” he bellows as he stands on the chair again.

“The artist, Zayn Malik has decided to commit to an offer, with my advice. Mr. Malik would like me to announce to you that you can stop arguing, because he’s already accepted an offer from Mrs. Jenna Hayward.”

A general groan of disappointment rolls through the room and Niall nods in pseudo-sympathy. “Yes, I know, it’s awful for the rest of you, but we’re not sorry. Thanks so much for coming by, uh—there’s a lot of other great artwork here, although not nearly as good as Zayn’s here. Happy buying—we’re out of here!”

Niall jumps off the chair and folds it back up, leaning it against the wall. A woman approaches Zayn and he assumes that it’s Jenna Hayward. She has platinum blonde hair and big dark eyes, which reminds him of some sort of bug.

“I’m Jenna, Jenna Hayward,” she says, sticking her hand out, wrist limp and palm facing down. Zayn stares at her hand for a moment before taking it in his own and shaking it. In the corner of his eye, he can see Niall double up with laughter. He vaguely wonders why, before he realizes a moment too late that Jenna Hayward wanted him to kiss her hand.

“I am the one who bought your painting,” she says, a slight look of contempt at Zayn’s ignorance.  
For a ridiculously high price, Zayn thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead he smiles as Niall strides over to where they are.

“Hello, Mrs. Hayward,” he says, and when Jenna Hayward extends her hand to him, he bends down and kisses it. “It’s such a pleasure doing business with you—when can you transfer the money?”

“Niall,” Zayn says, embarrassed, but Jenna Hayward just waves him off.

“It’s quite alright, really,” she says nonchalantly. “He knows why we’re here. To answer your question, Mr. Horan, I shall have a respondent of mine transfer the money all at once directly into Mr. Malik’s bank account, if that is of no problem.”

“That is of no problem at all,” Niall assures her. “And we shall have one of our respondents make sure of that.”

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way to look at the other exhibits. I’ll have someone come by sometime after the show is over to pick up my new painting. I look forward to working with you further in the future, Mr. Malik,” Jenna Hayward adds before grabbing a wineglass from one of the passing servers and making her way around to the other artists.

Zayn looks at Niall for a split-second before he finds himself hugging Niall and squeezing him hard, actually picking him up and Niall laughs as Zayn gives a shout of excitement, drawing attention from surrounding people, but he’s too happy to care. He sets Niall down gently, smiling broadly.

“I can’t believe we did it!” Zayn exclaims. Niall’s smile falters a little.

“You mean you did it, Zayn, I still have to become elevator music, remember?”

“Oh, Nialler,” Zayn says, “Don’t even worry about that, I swear, someone’s going to notice you and it’s going to happen soon.”

And, as if some higher power or god heard Zayn, at that moment, Margaret Chandler exclaims: “My god! What is that delightful music? George? George? George! I want to know who wrote this song! Find me the singer!”

Niall sat up a little straighter, fixed his hair and grinned wider than Zayn had ever seen him smile. He makes his way over to Margaret Chandler, but not before whispering the words three down in Zayn’s ear.

They end up staying till the end, and by then Niall and Margaret have struck an unofficial deal with George’s recording company, and Niall is smiling brighter than a star. Zayn watches him interact with Margaret and George from afar. The way Niall looks right now and the way he’s smiling and laughing and having fun—Zayn figures that he’d be content with seeing him like this for the rest of his life.

———————

In one short month, Niall has surpassed the elevator music stage—he’s topping charts. People left and right are offering to sign him, and he’s got hipster network interviews lined up for the next six weeks. He eventually decides he can’t handle all the stress of stardom by himself, and he doesn’t want to bother Zayn with it, so he signs with a small, very hipster recording label called Humble! Management.

Zayn, on the other hand, is doing quite well on his side of the hipster world; people are paying ridiculous amounts of money to buy everything from professional-looking oil paintings to crappy little original sketches he has lying around. He has a few interviews set up himself with a few different art catalogs and radio shows, although not nearly as many as Niall.

They both take leave from school, deciding to take a gap year together to finish off the list after talking to their families. Niall’s mam isn’t too happy about him dropping school, no matter how temporary the decision, and it takes a lot of persuading with her, while Zayn’s mum and dad are all for the idea, as long as he promises to return to school after the whole list thing is over and done with.

It’s almost Christmastime and already people are begging for a Christmas album from Niall and some sort of piece that has to do with the holidays for Zayn, although he doesn’t even celebrate Christmas. Niall’s first interview is just four days before Christmas, which should get everyone excited up for his EP.

Niall is freaking out on the day of his interview, which Zayn can’t stop laughing at because Niall looks how Zayn looked the night before the art show, seemingly so long ago.

“Zaynie? Zayn,” Niall half-whispers. They’re in the studio, backstage and preparing Niall for his first ever interview.

“What’s up, Niall?” Zayn says absently. He’s still in awe that they actually gave Niall his own dressing room; he’s currently walking around the room and it’s massive.

“Zayn—Zee, I don’t think I’ll be able to do this.” Zayn notices Niall’s tone and turns to look at him. Niall’s face is pale, bordering on green, and his eyes are closed.

“Oh no, Niall,” Zayn says, picking up one of the complimentary hot towels and placing it gingerly on Niall’s forehead. “You’re gonna be just fine, I promise, Nialler,” he whispers into Niall’s ear. “I’m gonna sit right in the audience and if you feel a little antsy or nervous just look over at me and I swear I’ll be right in the spot I said I would, okay?”

There’s a knock on the door. “Mr. Horan?” a voice calls. “We’ll be ready for you in five minutes.”

“Okay, he’ll be right out,” Zayn says after a beat of silence. There’s the sound of retreating footsteps and Niall looks over at Zayn again, his face ashen.

“Don’t worry about it, Niall, please,” Zayn says, standing up and pulling his friend with him. “I swear everything will work out just fine and then we can keep going down the list. After I do my interview in January, we’ll be down to six more steps. Six, Niall, that’s everything we’ve hoped for since last month when we started this stupid thing.”

Niall looks considerably better as Zayn keeps a good hold on his wrist, murmuring a steady stream of encouragement the entire time.

All his efforts go straight to hell, however, when Niall peeks behind the curtain and sees the huge amount of people who are sitting inside: some are holding signs that read things like go Niall go and I wish I had hair like Niall and our little Irish blondie; others are wearing shirts with Niall’s face on it; and still others are shout-singing lyrics from the song Sweet Thunder.

“Yeah, no, I can’t do this,” Niall breathes to Zayn, his breathing increasing rapidly, to near-hyperventilation states.

“Nialler, baby, you’re gonna do just fine,” Zayn says, and he pulls Niall into a big hug (he finds himself doing that a lot lately; he really doesn’t mind).

“Mr. Horan?” one of the interns says timidly. She gently pokes Niall in the side. “We’re going on air in thirty seconds, and Sugar Vixen wants me to show you to your entrance.”  
Zayn pulls away, looking down at Niall incredulously. “You managed to spot your first interview with someone who’s name is Sugar Vixen? That’s very hipster of you.”  
Niall laughs properly at that, and Zayn smiles, happy that he’s the one who brought the color back to his face.

“Please don’t freak out, Niall. Look out into the crowd, and I will be the first person you see. I made sure of that; my seat is in the very middle of the very first row, so anytime you feel nervous, just look out at me and I’ll be there to smile and give you a thumbs up.”  
Niall nods even as he’s being pulled away by the intern. “Okay, Zaynie, just promise!”

“Don’t worry, Nialler baby, I’ll be right where you can see me!” Zayn calls. When Niall is out of his line of vision, he runs out around the audience seating area and rushes to his seat. Niall is already out there as well, sitting in a big comfy chair beside a woman, who is wearing giant multi-colored sunglasses and bellbottoms with white high-top Converse who Zayn assumes is Sugar Vixen. Zayn can’t believe that people actually still wear fucking bellbottoms, but then he remembers, once again, that this is a hipster network.  
Niall looks at him once more as the camera starts rolling, and Zayn gives him a thumbs up and a smile, although he’s probably just as nervous as Niall is.

“Welcome back, Vixens!” says Sugar, flipping her rainbow-colored hair behind her. “I hope you had fun trying out that new vegan rice and chocolate recipe during the break!”  
The audience behind Zayn cheers uproariously as Niall and Zayn exchange an incredulous look and Zayn shakes his head as if to say wow, you chose right. Niall smiles broadly back at him before Sugar Vixen calls his attention back to her.

“But we’re going to step away from the deliciousness that is vegan rice and chocolate and turn to something else—and he might not be edible, but I’m sure our audience can agree that he is delicious!” Sugar pauses for another wave of high-pitched cheers before continuing. “He’s an up-and-coming star, born in Mullingar, Ireland and raised in Wolverhampton; here’s Niall Horan!”

The crowd exclaims at a freakishly pitch and while Zayn is cheering just as loudly along with them, he’s sort of afraid of the state of his hearing ability by the time this is over.

“Everyone knows Niall’s song, Sweet Thunder, right?” Sugar Vixen says. More screams. Zayn doesn’t think that people can really ever be this excited. “It first rose to the charts a few weeks ago—just before Christmas, luckily!—and ever since then, fans all around the world have been crazy for more of Niall! He since has an EP out, with four other great songs on it: Selene, Helen, Days Away and Stand Back For You.”

Sugar Vixen turns to Niall now, a big fake grin on her face. “So, Niall,” she begins, “How does it feel to be idolized by so many people so quickly in so little time? I mean, you only started a few weeks ago!”

“Well, that’s not necessarily true,” Niall says, frowning a bit. “I’ve actually been playing guitar since I was eleven and writing my own music since I was fifteen. I’ve only been noticed a few weeks ago.”

Sugar Vixen throws her hands up in the air in mock-surrender. “Sorry, my mistake! But how does it feel to be an idol to so many fans when you’ve just been noticed a few weeks ago, Niall? It must be quite a change!”

Niall shrugs. “It’s a pretty big change, yeah; but about being an idol to so many fans, as you put it—I really don’t think I am. I think there’s a lot of people who like my music, and people who support me, but idol is kind of a strong word. I’m not quite ready to be a role model yet, I’m twenty and I love the short amount of life I’ve lived.”

Cheers erupt at Niall’s last words and Sugar Vixen lets them go on for a moment before she continues. Niall looks back at Zayn, who gives him a thumbs up and mouths the words great job. Niall smiles tentatively back at him before turning back to Sugar.

“So, Niall,” she says, fixing her giant sunglasses. “I’m sure many of our female fans would like to know: is there anyone special in your life?”

Niall chuckles nervously. “There are a ton of special people in my life, Sugar. I think you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”  
Sugar sits up a little straighter in her chair and leans forward. “You know…a special little lady in your life?”

Niall rubs the back of his neck awkwardly—he’s trying to pass it off but Zayn can tell that he’s uncomfortable. “Well—I—uh—” he stutters, looking quickly over at Zayn for help.  
Zayn put his hands up a little, mouthing the words stop, breathe, relax over and over and nodding his head. Niall takes a deep breath before continuing.

“Besides me mam, there’s really no special lady in my life.”

Screams, Zayn decides as he listens to the shrieks of the overly-excited teenage girls in the audience, could be used as a nuclear weapon. Perhaps he’ll pitch the idea, if he’s ever invited to a United Nations meeting.

“Okay,” Sugar Vixen says once the girls have returned to their previously quiet and attentive state, “Although I find that astonishing, how a cutie like you has no girlfriend! But—maybe there’s someone you like in your life? A cute girl that we just don’t know about yet?”

The audience oohs and Zayn rolls his eyes; there’s no jealousy behind the act, only bitterness (though he’d never admit it) because Sugar is under the impression that Niall likes only girls.

Niall shakes his head. “No—I’m afraid it’s just me, and no cute girls either.”

There’s more cheering and Zayn rolls his eyes again. Niall won’t say right out that he’s bi unless he’s asked, and Sugar is too idiotic to ask if he’s into guys at all.

The interview rolls on for about five more minutes with all the standard interview questions (as standard as they get for a hipster network anyway: what’s your favorite color on Rosie O’Donnell? Who’s your indie celebrity crush? How much pasta do you eat on a monthly basis?) and Niall is mostly fine until the very end.

“Well, it’s almost time to end the show,” Sugar says with a mock pout on her face. “And we’ve had a great time with you, Niall! Is there anything you’d like to say before we roll the credits? Want to give any shout-outs to anyone?”

“Uh, sure,” Niall says, and he bites his lip a little nervously. “I’d like to say hello to my mam back home, Liam, if you’re watching, even though it feels like I haven’t talked to you in forever, call me, mate! Louis, hi, because there’s a good chance he’s watching with Li; dad, how are you? And one last shout-out I’d like to give: to my best friend, Zayn Malik.” Niall turns his head and looks directly at Zayn who blushes a little and smiles wide.

“Without Zayn I never would have gotten here,” Niall says clearing his throat a little. “I never would have had the courage to come and actually do my first interview today, and he’s been coaching me from the sidelines since day one—literally today he’s been coaching me from the sidelines, I’ve been looking to him this whole interview. Uh, anyway. I’d just like you to know that I love you a lot, mate.”

I love you, too Zayn wants to shout, wants to scream it at the top of his lungs, because as Niall blushes and the crowd goes fucking nuts, Zayn realizes that, right from the start, right from the party with the stoners to the list to now, he’s been in love with Niall the entire time.

But the crowd is deafening and Zayn isn’t even sure if Niall feels the same way, so instead he claps along with the rest and mouths the words I love you, too, mate to Niall as Sugar opens her mouth once more.

“Isn’t that so sweet?” she coos, wiping away a fake tear. “Their own little bromance! It’s so cute that he took the time to acknowledge all his friends. Well, this is Sugar Vixen on the Window Network, wishing you a good day and happy holidays! And don’t forget to log onto Sugar Vixen’s website and share your favorite vegan rice and chocolate recipes with us! Bye, guys!”

The cameras pan away from the set and Niall is given the cue to leave. Zayn stands up as soon as Niall does, slinging his arms around his waist and smiling. Niall smiles back, a little unsurely, then nods.

“That was my first interview, Zee,” Niall whispers as they make their way back to his dressing room to pick up his stuff. “How was it? Did I do okay?”

“You did so great Niall,” Zayn assures him. “Did you hear how we were cheering for you out there? Everyone loves you, especially those girls. They were freaking out over you! It was amazing, and you did very well.”

Niall smiles then, blushing a little at Zayn’s shower of compliments. “Thanks, Zaynie,” he says and Zayn feels warm like he did the first time Niall called him that, and it’s pretty obvious to him that, yeah, he’s fallen hard for this boy.

They reach his dressing room and Niall picks up his bag and grabs a few snacks from the mini fridge and shoves them into his backpack before walking quickly back out. Zayn chuckles a little bit and says, “You know this is your room, right? You know that you can just have the snacks, Nialler?”

Niall shakes his head. “That’s how they get you, man. You can’t trust the system.”

“It’s the system now, Niall? You should save the hipster bullshit for now. That’s for after the fifth step, remember?”

“Speaking of which,” Niall says as they walk to the elevator, “When are you going to get your interview done, Zee?”

“I think mine is scheduled for the week after New Years’,” Zayn says. He steps onto the elevator, Niall close behind him. “After that, we can move on to the next half of the list.”

“The fun half,” Niall says mischievously. Zayn laughs, pressing the button for the lobby. Niall’s right; the second half of the list is a lot less headache and a lot more fun than the first half. The part Zayn’s really looking forward to is disgracing his fame. He already has quite a few creative ways to do it that he’s been thinking about for days.  
When they step off the elevator, they’re remotely shocked to find the amount of people out in the lobby. They keep walking and don’t think anything of it until—

“THERE HE IS!”

“AND THERE’S THAT HOT FRIEND HE WAS THANKING EARLIER!”

And the only instinct Zayn has left is to shield and protect Niall from the hundreds of screaming girls who are currently trampling each other to get to him.

Niall is laughing as he pulls Zayn away by the hand, and together they start running. There’s no time to wait for the elevator (they’re about to get trampled to death, as Zayn points out to Niall when he tries to stop) so they find the fire exit and make their way upstairs.

It’s sort of funny, in a way. Zayn grew up with three sisters, and his older sister, Walihya, always complained that she was a slow runner. But perhaps that’s a circumstantial thing, because the sixteen year olds here are running like there’s a fucking sale at Abercrombie and Fitch.

Niall and Zayn just keep blindly running throughout the building, turning random corners and meeting the occasional dead-end and Zayn can’t help but feel like they’re in an episode of Scooby-Doo.

After a few minutes of running, they stop on one of the floors, Niall keeling over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He looks exhausted, a pretty, pink tinge discoloring his normally pale features. The flush runs from his brown roots and disappears to the neckline of his shirt and Zayn finds himself wondering how far down that flush goes.

He shakes himself slightly, stopping the thought before it can go any further and reminding himself that there’s a good chance that Niall doesn’t even feel the same way about him. The thought sobers him up slightly and he turns back to face Niall, who is breathing normally again.

“Do you think we lost them?” he says, half-whispering as he checks around the corner.

“For now, yeah,” Zayn says quietly. “But your little entourage won’t stay away for too long. These fandom girls are dangerous; especially the ones with Tumblr accounts. They’ll find us.”

“Really?” Niall says, voice thick with awe.

Zayn nods his head wisely. “If you know just what you’re doing, Tumblr is a very dangerous place to be.”

Niall pouts for a moment before breaking out into a gigantic grin. “Zayn? Zayn!”

“What? What?” Zayn says, panicking slightly. “Are they back? Did they find us?”

“What? No, no; do you realize what this means?” Niall says. His eyes are dark blue with a shining excitement that Zayn can’t comprehend. He shakes his head.

“I have a fanbase now, Zayn!” Niall is smiling so wide that Zayn has a legitimate fear that his cheek muscles are going to snap under the pressure of holding up.

And suddenly Zayn is being tackled to the ground by a blonde body and Niall is on top of him, hugging him and laughing.  
Zayn’s all too aware that Niall is on top of him and he has half a mind to push him off—but Niall has his arms linked tight around Zayn’s midsection and his knee is brushing up against his crotch in a way that he can only hope is an accident because it’s really turning him on in a way that it shouldn’t.

So he just hugs Niall back and promises himself that he’s going to save this memory for a rainy day, because Niall’s just buried his face in Zayn’s neck and he’s never felt so content with anything than he is at this moment.

After a few minutes, Niall’s laughter has died down, and he’s just lying on top of Zayn on the floor, silent and still. Zayn suddenly becomes very aware of his own breathing and he tries to steady his breath. He sincerely hopes Niall can’t hear the way his heartbeat has quickened dramatically, because that would just lead to awkward questions that he’s not entirely sure he’s ready to answer yet.

Niall lifts his head up and looks at Zayn, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. Zayn can feel his breath literally hitch and he feels like Jennifer Aniston in every terrible romantic comedy she’s ever done. Niall just keeps staring into Zayn’s eyes and there’s really no other place for Zayn to look than right back at them. He can feel himself instinctively move closer and when Niall makes no move to stop him, he reaches one of his hands up and caresses his cheek. Niall’s eyes are half-lidded and he can feel his own start to close as he leans in. He’s so close to his lips—they’re sharing breath—

“Aren’t you Niall Horan?”

Niall’s eyes fly open as he jumps a bit and rolls off of Zayn, who is blushing almost as furiously as Niall. Zayn’s not too sure if he wants to scream in frustration or in relief; maybe a little bit of both.

Zayn stands up and looks at the person who interrupted them. He’s tall; that’s the first thing he notices. Tall and thin and lanky, with tattoos and curly brown hair and green eyes and dimples and a dopey, crooked smile and he’s cute, really, in his plaid shirt and skin-tight jeans and his white Converse.

Not nearly as cute as Niall, if you want his opinion, but cute. He’s wearing a sort of sheepish grin on his face, although he doesn’t look particularly embarrassed or regretful that he’s just been a major cock-block at this point.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” he says, but the mischievous, cheeky glint in his eyes says that he’s really quite proud of himself, “but I assume you’re Niall?”

Zayn shakes his head and points to Niall. “No, he’s Niall. I’m…not.”

The kid nods and smiles, extending his hand for Niall to shake. “I’m Harry, Harry Styles. I’m sort of your assistant. I’ll be working with you as long as you’re signed with Humble! Management.”

Niall nods and shakes Harry’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Harry. What exactly is it that you’re supposed to do for me?”

Harry shrugs. “Pretty much whatever you want me to do. I’m going to be with you for as long as you’re signed, or at least until I can get signed myself, so I’m kind of your bitch till the end. Why don’t we all get out of here?” Harry adds. “I don’t like being in this section of the building too often. Sugar Vixen likes to wander by here and honestly, the old hag gives me the creeps.”

Niall nods and glances at Zayn, who shrugs noncommittally. “Are the fangirls gone?” he asks. Harry nods. “Let’s go, then. Nothing left to do here.” They follow Harry back toward the elevators.

“Are you due to get signed soon?” Zayn says. Harry looks at him for a moment as though this is the first time he’s seen him properly.

“No, but I’m working toward a record deal. I write my own music, hoping to get lucky with a deal,” he says, and there’s a little bit of pride in his eyes when he says I write my own my music, which reminds Zayn of Niall, because that’s exactly the way Niall looks when he’s talking about his music. He wonders if he ever looks that passionate when he talks about art.

“I didn’t quite get your name, mate, I’m sorry,” Harry says, extending his hand for Zayn to shake.

“Zayn Malik,” he says. “I’m Niall’s best friend.” Zayn doesn’t have to be looking at Niall to know that the little blonde is smiling like an idiot again.

“Good to meet you, Zayn,” Harry says.

“So who sent you, Harry?” Niall says as the elevator rings. They all step in as Harry answers.

“Management told me that you might need a bit of help getting out of the building after the interview,” Harry says as he pushes the button for the lobby. “Said something like you might get caught by crazed fans. Me and some of the body guards were supposed to come by and help you guys get out of here safely.”

“Little late for that,” Zayn says rolling his eyes. Harry gives a bark of laughter and a sheepish grin as they step off into the lobby.

Zayn sort of zones out of the conversation when they start talking about autotune and layering because if you ask him, Niall’s voice is so good that they don’t need any of that stuff.

They reach the management-sent car (it’s more of a limousine than anything) safely, and they sit in the back. Niall and Harry keep talking and Zayn sits across from them, staring at Niall the entire time because honestly, he’s never seen anyone, male or female, so pretty.

He sighs quietly and pulls out his phone, plugging his earbuds into it. It immediately starts off with the last song that was playing before he’d unplugged it. It’s Breakeven, which is kind of funny; Breakeven was the song Niall played when they first met, four short months ago, four short months that feel like years. It’s not the original version of the song, though—it’s a version that Niall had recorded a while ago, when their friendship was still relatively new.

Niall’s voice, sweet and soft and angelic, blasts into his ears.

I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing  
Just prayed to a god that I don’t believe in  
‘Cuz I’ve got time while she’s got freedom  
Yeah when a heart breaks no it don’t breakeven

Zayn finds himself once again singing softly along to the words of the song. He doesn’t realize that he was singing aloud until he looks up to see that Niall and Harry are both smiling widely at him.

And maybe Zayn’s imagining it, but maybe that’s a hint of a tear in Niall’s eye.

———————

Niall was the very first person (besides Louis) to see Zayn’s artwork. So it only makes sense that Zayn is the very first person to buy Niall’s EP when it comes out on iTunes on January 6. He stays up all night to wait for its midnight release, and proudly clicks the buy button. Niall nearly cries; he’s on fucking iTunes, for god’s sake.

A few days later, on January 10, Zayn goes to his first obviously-hipster network interview, a radio show that no one’s ever heard of far from home.  
The night before, he and Niall have to lie together in their hotel bed. They had gotten the reservations wrong; instead of two beds, there’s only one. Niall says he doesn’t mind sharing if Zayn doesn’t mind. (He doesn’t. And even if he did, it was a two-hour long drive all the way from Wolverhampton to Surrey; he’s not about to get up to complain about it.)

They don’t talk much when they finally get in bed at around one in the morning. It’s mostly quiet, save for the rustling of bed sheets when Niall gets too hot or too cold, which is often. Zayn doesn’t really mind; it’s cute, how he has to keep moving around to find the perfect body temperature.

Zayn is a few seconds away from falling asleep when there’s a whisper in the darkness.

“Zayn?”

Zayn rolls over to face Niall, smiling a bit through the darkness. “Yes, Nialler?”

“Are you nervous at all? For your interview, I mean?” Niall says. Zayn is suddenly very aware of how small the bed is, and how close they are. They’re sharing breath again, like they were doing before, and there’s less that six inches of empty space between them. He feels like it should be smaller and has the overwhelming urge to kiss Niall again.

“Nervous?” Zayn says. “No, not really. It’s a radio show interview at six in the morning. All the people that are going to be listening are only going to be listening because you told them about me when you were on Sugar Vixen’s show. So no, I’m not nervous. There’s nothing to really be nervous about.”

Niall giggles a little. Actually fucking giggles, and it’s really cute. “You know, it’s kind of funny; I’m nervous for you now. And in my first interview, I was nervous and you were assuring me. And before that, at the art show, you were nervous and I was assuring you and being professional.”

Zayn just smiles, eyes closed. “I suppose we trade off. You’ve got to keep me under control sometimes, and I’ve got to keep you under control sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Niall says through a yawn.

“You should get some sleep, Nialler.”

“Yeah, I know. You should, too. Goodnight, Zaynie.”

“Night.”

Soon enough, Niall’s breath slows and the sound of his light snoring fills the room. Zayn, though he was tired just a few moments ago, is now wide awake. He keeps hearing his own words in his head.

You’ve got to keep me under control sometimes, and I’ve to keep you under control sometimes. I suppose we trade off.

Zayn looks at Niall’s sleeping form as the words run through his head. Pale moonlight shines from the thin curtains (they might as well have a thread count of two) and hits Niall directly. It illuminates his skin and makes him literally glow. His hair is a mess and he looks like an angel when he’s sleeping, just like he looks like an angel when he’s awake.

Zayn sighs and runs his knuckles lightly on Niall’s soft skin, leaving little goose bumps in their wake.

You’ve got to keep me under control sometimes, and I’ve got to keep you under control sometimes, Zayn thinks as he watches Niall sleep for a little while longer.

“That’s what makes you perfect for me,” he says aloud. He swallows a lump in his throat and moves back over to his narrow side of the bed, falling slowly into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, when Zayn is woken up by his alarm, he finds that his arms are wrapped around Niall’s waist. It’s not like he meant to do it; not consciously, anyway. Niall is still fast asleep, so he lets himself indulge for a few more moments. He compares his skin tone to Niall’s, deep tan against eggshell white; and the contrast is beautiful, the type of thing he would paint, and he wonders what it would be like to wake up to this every single day.

Zayn sighs and gently pulls his arms from Niall’s waist so as not to wake him up. He carefully sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake up Niall.

He tiptoes to the bathroom, flicking the light on. He faintly remembers when he thought eight o’clock was an awful time to wake up. He chuckles a bit darkly, because it’s five-fifteen in the morning and he would actually kill to be able to wake up at eight. If the circumstances were different, he might actually say fuck the interview and dive back into bed. But then he remembers the list and how excited and nervous Niall is for this interview, even if it’s not his.

So instead of jumping going back to bed, Zayn sighs, quickly strips of his clothes and steps into the chilly shower.

***

Niall wakes up a short time after Zayn, and they leave together after just fifteen minutes. Niall somehow manages to be a chipper little leprechaun even at five thirty in the morning. Zayn watches him with a bewildered smile as Niall skips into the building with him a few minutes before six.

The radio host, Chris Glass, smiles at Zayn when he comes in, Niall munching joyfully on chips from a vending machine. Chris smiles even wider when he realizes that the person with Zayn is Niall Horan, who has apparently reached out farther into the hipster community than they originally thought. Zayn asks if Chris if Niall can be in the room during the interview (maybe he is a little nervous), and he says yes.

They hang around for a few more minutes and, at 6:20 they finally start the interview, and Zayn would be lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit nervous. (Niall is sitting right next to him, though; his shaky hands could be attributed to that alone.)

“Good morning, Abinger!” Chris says into his microphone. There are two other people in the room, besides Niall and Zayn; Chelsea, who has thick, horn-rimmed glasses that make her eyes look huge and who is wearing shorts far too short for this weather and Namy, a thin, weedy fellow with a magnificent mustache. “This is the Christopher Glass show with Chelsea Himes and Namy Forrester; today we have a very special show for you. Now, we’d originally scheduled for one very special person today but instead we’ve got two: Zayn Malik, who many of you have heard of after his piece An Unromantic Hiatus appeared in many popular art catalogs. Want to say hello, Zayn?”

“Hello!” Zayn says cheerfully, and Niall gives him a thumbs up.

“And our other special guest, the one we didn’t anticipate, is Niall Horan,” Chris continues, flashing Niall a smile. “Niall became an international star seemingly overnight, although we all know that Niall has been working hard to get to where he is, isn’t that right, Niall?”

“Exactly right,” Niall says, licking at the braces on his teeth before smiling brightly at Zayn, who smiles back.

“And as it turns out, these two really awesome guys happen to be best friends, which is pretty sweet, if you ask me,” Chris says. “We’re gonna talk to Zayn for a few minutes, and then we can talk to the both of you, if that’s alright with you two?”  
Zayn nods his head. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Go ahead,” says Niall.

“So first off, Zayn, how does it feel to become such a big deal in the art industry?” Chris begins, looking through a small stack of papers.

“I don’t really consider myself a big deal,” Zayn says, “I think it’s just that a lot of people like my art and admire it, but I don’t think it’s anything to get in a twist over. Tons of people do what I do everyday and don’t get any recognition. But at the same time it feels really good, to know that there’s someone out there who likes and appreciates what you do.”

“Nice,” Chris says.

“Wow, humble and handsome all rolled into one.” Chelsea pipes up from her corner of the room, playing around with an iPad. They all laugh and Niall pats Zayn on the shoulder.

“So are you ever a bit overwhelmed by fan comments?” Chelsea asks, looking up from her iPad for a moment. “You know, on Twitter and Facebook and stuff?”

Zayn furrows his brow slightly. “Honestly? I don’t have either of those things so I don’t know what they’ve said.”

“Really?” Chelsea says, her eyes impossibly wider behind her glasses. “You don’t know what your own fans are saying about you? Unbelievable.”

“It’s all good, I hope?” Zayn says nervously.

Chelsea pushes her iPad toward him and Namy says, “Have a look, then, Zayn.”

So he does, and the reactions are better than he could have ever expected; hundreds, literally thousands of fans saying things like cute things like I LOVE YOU ZAYN and ridiculous things like MARRY ME and even vulgar things like I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME INTO A HIATUS.

“Wow…” Zayn whispers as he scrolls through the tweets. People are hashtagging zaynmalik and TheWonderZayn, which are quickly on the trend list. He laughs at TheWonderZayn; the name is taken from the second piece of art he ever released, The Wonder Bug (which was just a sketch based off a ladybug that he’d seen while he was sitting in the park one day. It kept falling off a leaf, but continued to try to get back on, and that was honestly one of the most inspiring things he’d ever laid eyes on).

Niall is looking over his shoulder and when Zayn turns to look at him, his eyes are shining with wonder, and tears, too. Zayn isn’t sure, but he can only hope that they’re tears of joy. He turns around and throws an arm around Niall’s waist hugging him tightly against his body and chuckling a little bit.

“Oh, Zayn,” Niall whispers into the shoulder of Zayn’s skin, away from the microphones so no one can hear them; the other three people in the room have proceeded without them, and no one’s paying attention to them.

“Oh, Zayn,” he says again, and there’s so much happiness and excitement and the tiniest bit of sad in his voice that Zayn pulls him closer, to the point where he’s practically sitting on his lap. “They love you.”

“Couldn’t have done it,” Zayn breathes into Niall’s ear, “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You would have been able to—” Niall starts, pulling away from Zayn slightly to frown at him, but he interrupts, shaking his head.

“Niall, they would have never known who I was without you. That first night, when I met you—I could have never dreamed that you’d do something like this for me. I would have never thought that you might come up with that stupid list, or that it would work out like it did. Niall,” Zayn says, his heart in his throat, “You don’t seem to understand that each and every time I say something like you’re my best friend, or that we fit together, I mean to say that I love you.”

He wants to say more; there’s so much more to say, to get off his chest. He wants to kick himself for not saying this before and he just wants to tell Niall everything that’s been on his mind since he met him in August; that in a little less than six months of knowing him, he’s never been able to get this little Irish blonde out of his head.  
But he doesn’t get the chance, not at this moment anyway, because Niall has pushed his lips onto Zayn’s and he doesn’t care what anyone says—a million fans writing a billion good messages will never come close to feeling as good as this does, right now.

They kiss for just a few seconds, and the other people in the room have all but forgotten that they’re still there. Niall pulls back first, face alight with happiness as he rests his forehead against Zayn’s. They both close their eyes and Zayn can’t help but think that he should have done this sooner, much, much sooner.

He feels Niall’s lips ghost over his own once more and then Zayn can’t help but lean in a little bit. Niall taste like the Power Puff Girls: like sugar and spice and everything nice. He faintly wonders how he might taste to Niall, if he’s even paying attention to that. 

They pull apart just before Namy lifts his head and gets the whole interview back on track. Niall blushes through most of the rest of it, but Zayn keeps a firm grasp on his hand underneath the table.

And a minute before the interview is over, Zayn leans over and presses his lips close to Niall’s ear, breathing words only he can hear:

“Four down.”

———————

They immediately get done with the fifth step on the list; normally he wouldn’t be into these kinds of things, but when you’re only supposed to be spreading utter and complete hipster bullshit, Zayn finds himself tweeting ten times a day. He reaches 1 million followers by March, which might be some kind of record, although he’s not sure.

Niall gets a Twitter and an Instagram, and he has a little over five million followers in total, which he honestly cannot believe. He cries a little bit into Zayn’s shoulder when they add it all up, because for some reason Zayn can’t quite understand, Niall doesn’t know why people seem to care about him.

Since they kissed during the radio show, Zayn and Niall have just done a lot of that—kissing. In hotel beds, sneaking kisses in public and even in secret during interviews. There’s nothing, really, that Zayn would rather do; if he could, he’d just lie in bed and kiss Niall all day.

They haven’t really talked about what they ‘are’ because Zayn really hates those kinds of conversations. It’s a whole lot of what will we do if it doesn’t work out and we might ruin our friendship forever and I need to think this through.

The problem with those types of conversations is that they normally end out badly. So every time Niall looks like he might want to have ‘the talk’, Zayn attacks him with neck kisses, which gets him off the subject pretty quickly.

One day, though, in mid-April, Niall is totally dead set on having the talk, no matter how Zayn tries to distract him. They rent out a two-story apartment together in the middle of London; Zayn is doubtful at first, but Niall assures him that even if they do break it off—whatever it is—they can remain friends.

It’s quite domestic, living with Niall. For the first week or two, they don’t have any furniture, so it’s more or less a lot of sleeping on the floor, or on top of each other (they don’t mind). Niall is always up really early, which Zayn doesn’t quite understand. If it was anyone else, he’d just roll over and keep sleeping until two p.m. But the floor is cold without Niall on the other side for him to reach out and hold, and he finds that he’s unable to get back to sleep, so he finds himself getting up before it’s even ten in the morning.  
(Which just goes to show you how much Zayn loves this boy, because he doesn’t get out of bed for just anyone.)

And when he gets out of bed, Niall is normally sitting on the floor in front of their television and watching some dumb kids’ cartoon so will swoop in and wrap his arms around his waist and kiss him from behind and they’ll watch some cartoons a bit longer before Niall has to head to the recording studio and Zayn—well, Zayn pretty much works on his own time, and draws whenever inspiration hits him, which is a lot more often when he starts living with Niall.

On this particular morning, however, Niall has a day off. Zayn’s looking forward to lazy day with him but when he gets downstairs and moves to kiss him, Niall moves away.  
Zayn frowns, sitting on the floor next to him. “What’s wrong with you, Nialler?” Niall furrows his eyebrows, lips pulled into a pout that would be adorable, if it weren’t for the circumstances.

“What’s wrong with me is that I need to know what we are, Zayn,” Niall says, turning to face Zayn buy not quite meeting his eyes. “Why don’t you want to talk to me about this?”

“Because,” Zayn runs a hand through his quiff impatiently. “When I have these talks with people, it gets them thinking; and I’m always afraid that those thoughts will lead them right to giving this up before it even has a chance.”

Niall’s eyes soften, just a little bit, and he looks at Zayn, taking him by the hand. “I’m not going to do that, Zee,” Niall says, chuckling softly. “I’ve been in love with you for so long; I’m not going to just get up and leave. I need—I need some sort of definition, you know? It might sound sappy and like a bad romance, but I need to know where you are, if you and I are on the same page. I love you, okay, just do this one thing for me.” Zayn is in a sort of happy and giddy state of mind, because that’s the first time that Niall’s ever said the words I love you and it’s just like him to do it so casually.

Zayn sighs and nods his head and Niall turns, folding his legs Indian-style, motioning for him to do the same. “Why don’t I start?” Niall says. “I’ll tell you where I think we are, and then you tell me where you think we are.” Zayn nods and he begins.

“I think that after nine months, I know you really well,” Niall begins. “I think that we have a legitimate shot at making this work, because you and I, we fit like a puzzle. For every stupid song we sang together and every morning we spent watching dumb cartoons, I fell deeper in love with you. I’m not asking that you propose to me, don’t worry. I just want to be able to call you my boyfriend.”

Niall looks patiently at Zayn, who nods slowly. It’s not a lot, what Niall’s asking. They’ve technically been in a ‘relationship’ (he internally cringes at the word, ugh) for a little more than three months, but the entire time, they were in love, so it almost extends farther than those three.

“I think,” Zayn says after a moment. “That after nine months, I know you really well. You’ve been my best friend since we met at that party so long ago and I should thank you everyday for coming up with that stupid list because that thing has brought us together and—you know I’m not really into labels but if you want to call me your boyfriend, then I’m totally fine with that, and I’d actually really like to call you my boyfriend, too. Although you shouldn’t rule out proposals so soon,” he adds, and Niall laughs like he’s joking but no he’s not.

“So can we officially call ourselves boyfriends?” Niall says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s about to break into a gigantic, stupid grin.

Zayn nods. “Yeah, we can call ourselves boyfriends.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Definitely.” Niall looks at him for a moment and Zayn looks right back before he’s being attacked with kisses. “Thank you, Zaynie,” he says between open-mouthed neck kisses, “that’s really all I wanted to hear.”

They’re laughing and flushed on the floor and after a few minutes Niall tells him that he’s going to shower. Zayn hums in a sort of content way as Niall gets up; he hears his footsteps retreat and then stop.

“By the way, Zayn—six down.”

———————

At some point, they buy furniture; although they’ve become accustomed to the wide space and quite like the silly, empty house the way it is, they both agree that sleeping on the floor puts a bit of a strain on their backs.

They’re both famous now—neither boy particularly likes using the word (makes them seem a bit big-headed), but at this point, there’s no other way to describe it: people are constantly stopping them for autographs and pictures, and a group of fans even mobbed Niall’s car. The media has been having a field day since a curly-haired, dimpled somebody accidentally leaked that Niall and Zayn had been living together (Harry had apologized profusely, and his sorry-for-telling-the-world-that-you’re-roomies-now cookies are absolutely excellent).

“They’re calling us Ziall now,” Niall says one day as he walks through the front door, flinging a small-time, little-known magazine to Zayn on the couch before sitting down next to him.

“What?” Zayn says, flipping through the magazine.

“Apparently it’s our bromance name,” Niall says, shrugging. “Like Brangelina. Look on page thirty-seven.”

Zayn flips through the magazine and stops at the page Niall told him. Spread across two pages is a giant picture of him and Niall (and a slightly cutoff Harry) after a shopping trip. There’s a caption: Ziall goes on a shopping trip with their friend, aspiring popstar Harry Styles and a few tiny paragraphs below the picture.

 

What’s teen pop sensation Niall Horan been up to lately? It’s almost like he’s disappeared! Don’t worry, little Niall-lighters! The Irish blonde is still around; he was seen out shopping with best friend and artist Zayn Malik in the Southbank Centre on April 19.

Speaking of best friends, it’s been confirmed that Niall and Zayn are living together! How crazy is that? Our twitter followers gave the adorable bromance a name—Ziall! We think it’s super cute! Hopefully, this bromance is nothing more than that—otherwise millions of fans of both boys from around the world will be heartbroken!

“Well,” Zayn says as he finishes reading the article and throws the magazine to the side. “It’s official, Niall. They are becoming aware.” He laughs as Niall rolls his eyes and joins him on the sofa.

“I think it’s time to move on to step six,” Niall says, and Zayn nods in agreement. Acting like a douchebag would be really easy—he’d seen Donald Trump in action, and he met Chris Brown just a few weeks ago.

“When do you want to get started?” Zayn says and Niall responds immediately.

“Right away, if you don’t mind. My mam’s getting a bit antsy for me to get back to school.”

“Is she now?” Zayn says as Niall kisses his cheek and gets up from the couch.

“Yeah,” Niall says, making his way up the stairs. “She’s threatened to freeze my bank accounts.”

“Can she do that?”

“I don’t know, but I really don’t want to take that chance.”

***

The very first thing they set out to do is refurnish the apartment. It’s sort of a waste, seeing as they bought all that nice furniture and stuff just a few weeks ago. It’s also sort of worth it because Niall and Zayn get to order a ton of ridiculous furniture and décor: giant gold statues of cats to put outside their front door, big wind chimes to bother everyone who lives in the building up the wall, irritatingly hipster dream catchers—they even went as far as to paint the interior of the flat an bright and flamboyant pink that Louis would be very disappointed in.

Once they’ve satisfied themselves with how awful and douchey the place looks (“This absolutely screams we have more money than you,” Niall had said when their bearskin rug had arrived. It was a fake, of course—neither boy could stand the thought of something actually being killed for the sake of douchebaggery), they hire a personal shopper, who is definitely hipster enough and definitely sort of a bitch; however, she is really good at what she does.

By the end of May, both of them are nearly unrecognizable. They both wear pants too skinny to be considered pants (they might as well be sewn directly onto their skin), have their hair styled in an almost laughable manner most of the time and they even start wearing eyeliner, which Zayn is scarily good at applying.

(His excuse, of course, is that he grew up with four women in the house.)

As for actions, Niall deliberately walks out on four separate interviews, throws a drink into a waiter’s face and spends most of his time on his phone (he’s really not doing anything; just scrolling up and down between apps, but it makes him look like he’s doing something mildly important, and that’s the point). As a result, he’s even more famous and is getting all sorts of free clothing and technology from people and companies who want to be endorsed by the Niall Horan.

Zayn, on the other hand, has taken to yelling at anything and everything with working ears, deliberately ignoring everyone he isn’t yelling at and refusing to sign anything for or take pictures with fans. People have been going crazy over his new attitude, and just like Niall, he’s getting endorsements left and right.

Everyone is bewildered at their behavior except Harry; they tell him what’s going on right away, so he understands that they’re not being total dicks on purpose. Harry’s actually really interested in the list, but for some reason Zayn is extremely possessive over it. Maybe it’s because the list is Zayn and Niall, not Zayn and Niall and also Harry.  
Harry is also the only one who knows that Zayn and Niall are together, besides their separate managements and Louis and Liam (who have decided to elope in Canada after something like ten months of knowing each other. That wouldn’t have been awful if they’d thought to at least invite them, and Zayn has to admit that he’s a little mad that no one bothered to let them know until after their honeymoon).

After Niall finally got Zayn to discuss where they are, everything has been steady, constant. Their relationship is everything Zayn’s ever wanted: it is lazy kisses and early morning smiles and secret handjobs under tables and messy blowjobs and breakfast in bed and lots and lots of cuddling.

(They haven’t gone ‘all the way’: just the occasional blowjob or handjob for something nice that the other did. Really, Zayn doesn’t mind; he doesn’t need it. He just loves Niall, the way he smiles and the way he eats and the way he’s always wearing a snapback, and he’s never going to pressure Niall about having sex, because if Niall wants to, he will.)

They’ve already gotten through the sixth step, which was incredibly fun, if he’s being honest. They were rude to fans, publicists and a few of Niall’s assistants even quit on him. With six steps out of the way, they can get down to the make-or-break seventh.

It’s a Friday in June when Zayn has his first truly mainstream interview with Glamour magazine, and he’s pretty nervous. There’s no real reason for his nervousness: he’s supposed to act like an asshole, anyway. But something about the professional lighting and the professional interviewer makes his palm sweat just a little bit.

Niall has an interview with People magazine the same day, so Zayn is nervous for his interview all alone. Niall, on the other hand, seems to be doing very well, but takes care to worry for Zayn (which just reminds him of a particular night in a hotel room where he’d talked about trading off). They talk a few minutes before Zayn’s interview is due to start,  
Zayn standing outside of the hotel room where his interviewer, Laurel Crock, is waiting. 

“How are you doing, babe?” Niall’s voice is soft, courtesy of the crappy reception of Zayn’s phone.

“I’m freaking out, Niall,” Zayn says, and he truly is freaking out. These fucking hipster pants are too tight and his hair is styled in his usual quiff but there’s a blonde streak in it, and that’s just not him at all and honestly—who put him in a leather jacket? The entire thing is wonderfully douchey, and he can’t stand it.

“Zayn,” Niall says, and Zayn faintly remembers when he first met Niall; how he’d really liked the way Niall said his name. He still really likes it.

“It’s going to be okay, Zee, I promise. I really wish I could be with you today, ask them if I can sit with you or something,” Niall says, and Zayn hears the frustration in his voice as he sighs.

“Just remember that we only have a few more steps left, and then all this is over,” Niall says encouragingly. “After we both do this, we only have two more to go, and then we can go back to University, back to our regular lives in Wolverhampton with Liam and Louis and we can just figure out the rest of our lives together? Does that make sense? And we’ll be wiped away from the world, except for the occasional fan that might stop you and say hey, aren’t you Zayn Malik? And you can tell them all about the list if they ask why we went south, and the only time we’ll ever be mentioned is when they’re doing one of those TV specials, like Ten Stars Who Had The Biggest Potentials. And after all that’s said and done we’re never going to worry about it again.” Niall finishes with a sigh.

Zayn’s face splits into a giant grin because his boyfriend’s words are incredibly reassuring and the Irish lilt in his accent makes the words sound that much better.

“You really think it’s going to be okay, Niall?”

Niall scoffs a little before answering. “Now why in the hell would I lie to you, Zaynie?”

Zayn’s smile gets wider, to the point where he can actually feel crinkles by his eyes. He nods his head, even though Niall can’t see him, and says, “I love you, Nialler baby.”

“I love you, too,” Niall says, and Zayn can almost hear his smile through the phone receiver.

“Mr. Malik?” says a woman with a clipboard. “Zayn Malik? Hi, Laurel’s ready for you.”

Zayn nods and holds up his pointer finger, mouthing one moment; she nods in understanding. “I have to go, baby. It’s time.”

“Good luck, buttercup,” Niall says, giggling slightly. “Go show ’em how much of an asshole you can be.”

“Buttercup, is that what you just called me?” Zayn says through a smile.

“Yeah,” Niall says, a little sheepishly. “Just trying it out. I think it would be cute, to have our own stupid couple nicknames. You know how you call me Nialler baby sometimes? I just kind of wanted a pet name of my own. Do you not like it? I can stop if you want.”

“No,” Zayn says, swallowing a small lump in his throat, “No, it’s absolutely perfect, just like you. I seriously have to go, though—can you call me after your interview is over?”

“Of course,” Niall says easily. “I love you, buttercup.”

Zayn can hardly form words, he’s smiling so hard. “I love you too, Nialler baby.”

He hangs up after Niall does, slowly pocketing his phone and stepping into the room. It’s neatly furnished, with the feeling of new and slight distance. A woman sits on a high-backed, comfortable-looking chair, and there’s a similar chair in front of hers.

“Ms. Crock?” Zayn says tentatively and the woman stands up and turns around. She has bright red hair and blue eyes; she’s actually quite young, maybe early- to mid-twenties from what Zayn can tell. She has thick horn-rimmed glasses that suit her well, and big lips and bright eyes and a delicate nose; and she’s actually quite pretty.

“Please, just call me Laurel,” she says, holding out her hand. There’s a pencil stuck behind her ear, and another one holding her bun in place. He’s impressed; he never thought people could actually do that.

“Can I just say that it’s really amazing to meet you?” Laurel says, smiling brightly. “Seriously, I love your art, and I love drawing—and An Unromantic Hiatus is one of my favorite pieces ever. It’s so simple but I love it.”

Zayn feels himself blush a little bit as he sits down in front of her. “Thanks so much,” he says, and he almost feels uncomfortable because—well, he just expected some Barbara Walters-type who would try to get through this as quickly as possible because of some schedule; but Laurel is really nice and sweet and doesn’t seem to be in any kind of rush and he feels really bad that he’s going to have to be so rude to her.

So he tells her right off the bat.

“I’m not going to be an artist much longer, Laurel,” he says without missing a beat.

Laurel looks up from her notepad and scrunches her eyebrows a bit. “Wait—what?”

And suddenly, Zayn finds himself launching into the story of how he met Niall, which leads to the list, which leads to professing to this perfect stranger about how much he loves Niall.

“…I just don’t know what I’d do without him, you know?” Zayn says, letting out a sigh. Laurel is giving him this soft look, something that one would generally reserve for someone who has been hit hard by something that was speeding towards them.

(Which, he supposes, love kind of is. His mum always says that you know you’re in love when you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck, and right now, he feels like he’s been hit by two.)

“So,” Laurel says, shifting in her seat a little. She pushes her hair back into its loose bun (she let it out when he started talking) and tucks her pencil back behind her ear. “Okay, but I don’t really get why you’re telling me this. I mean, I think it’s really nice of you to share all this with me but I don’t understand what it has to do with me.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I just don’t want you to feel like something’s going wrong when we actually get started with this interview and I’m acting like a total asshat. I’m not really an asshat.”

Laurel nods her head slowly after a moment of thinking, and a small smile spreads across her face. She pulls her chair closer to Zayn and balances her notepad on her knee.

“Okay, Zayn,” she says, steadying her pencil to her paper. “I grew up with four brothers and they’re all assholes. Tell me: how much of an asshat do you want to be?”

———————

“This,” Niall says through his laughter. “This is excellent!”

He’s reading the latest issue of Glamour magazine that came out last week, where Zayn is plastered on the cover, stupid blonde streak and all. Harry is behind him, grinning broadly as his green eyes scan the page and mouthing the words.

Zayn is sitting next to Niall, reading the tweets about the magazine. A lot of them are funny, quoting the article. Zayn’s memorized every word of it by now. Liam and Louis came to London to visit (Zayn was extremely happy to see them; it had been nearly a year since he saw his best friend last), congratulating Niall and Zayn on their success. They had been rather confused when they saw the magazine at first; but once Niall had explained it to them, they were positively rolling with laughter. Now they’re reading the magazine with Niall and Harry on the couch.

“You read far too slow, Harry,” Louis says, as Niall is waiting for Harry to finish reading to turn the page. “Give me this,” he says, snatching it away and standing up on the coffee table in the middle of the room. “I’ll just read it out loud.” Louis clears his throat and begins reading. Zayn follows along in his head, since he already knows every word.

An exclusive interview with popular artist Zayn Malik shows that the creative hottie may not be all that he’s cracked up to be. Our very own Laurel Crock—a first-time interviewer—gives us the inside scoop.

LC: Zayn, I’d like to say that I’m a huge fan of your work—

ZM: Of course you are.

LC: Excuse me?

ZM: Of course you’re a fan of mine. Everyone loves me.

LC: That’s a bit big-headed, don’t you think?

ZM: No, I don’t. [Narrows eyes] And I think your attitude is awful.

LC: Um. Okay, well, I know this question is overused, but how do you feel about the overwhelming fame and popularity that you’ve received from the art community?

ZM: Well, people realize that I’m good at what I do. That’s the reason they like me; because I’m a lot better than ninety-nine percent of these wannabes.

LC: Ninety-nine percent? That’s kind of a…large estimation, isn’t it?

ZM: I don’t think so.

LC: Okay. Well then, some of our readers will want to know if there’s some special lady in your life.

ZM: No.

LC: [waits a moment but gets no further elaboration] Really? No one at all—

ZM: I don’t wish to talk about it anymore, Lily!

LC: My name…my name is Laurel.

ZM: [waves a hand] It doesn’t matter, do you not know who I am?

LC: Okay, moving on. What do you look for in a gi—

ZM: I refuse to answer anymore of these types of questions!

LC: Oh. Um, okay, that’s fine. [shuffles quickly through notes] Why don’t we address the Ziall rumors? A lot of people seem to think that you two are legitimately in a relationship by how you act and talk around each other. What do you have to say about these rumors?

ZM: Niall and I have a very special friendship. He is my best friend and I am his and we won’t let rumors like this destroy it.

LC: So you’re confirming that Ziall is not real?

ZM: I didn’t say that.

LC: So the rumors are true?

ZM: I didn’t say that, either.

LC: What are you saying, then?

ZM: I am not saying anything.

LC: What?

ZM: What?

LC: What?

ZM: What?

LC:

ZM:

LC:

ZM:

LC:

ZM:

LC: Alright, moving…um, moving right along. Some people would like to know your viewpoint on spending in Great Britain. Do you think people spend too much, or too little on day-to-day purchases?

ZM: Where the f**k do you come up with these questions?

LC: We take a poll and ask readers what they want to know; could you just answer the question?

ZM: I think that Brits need to be more responsible with their spending. You know, save some, spend some and all that. I think you should all have just a bit stored over, just in case.

LC: That’s very good advice, Zayn. I’m sure a lot of our younger readers will appreciate getting financial advice from someone they admire—

ZM: Of course, I don’t do that.

LC: You—you don’t do that?

ZM: No.

LC: [Irritated] Well why not?

ZM: I have more money now than you’ll ever make, Laurel.

LC: Um—what?

ZM: I will never have to worry about not having enough money. I’m well off for the rest of my life.

LC: Everyone goes through a rough patch sometime, Zayn—

ZM: [sharply] Not me.

LC: Okay…and again, moving on. How do you feel about the record-breaking amounts of people buying your artwork?

ZM: I think it’s good. People finally realize what they should be spending money on—me.

LC: What?

ZM: But at the same time, everyone should just stop buying things that are so expensive.

LC: You have a painting that costs two million pounds.

ZM: [Rolls eyes] Yes, but it was created by me, so there’s no harm. I think everyone should stop buying everything. You don’t need fancy Ferraris or a really big house.

LC: That’s a bit hypocritical seeing as how you have both of those things.

ZM: Yes but it doesn’t matter when I do it. I’m—well, I’m me. You understand, don’t you, Laurel?

LC: Um, no it doesn’t.

ZM: Well, it does to me. In any case, you don’t need the new Justin Bieber CD or a Prada bag or the newest Nikes. Unless they’re for the good of—actually, you know what, no: nobody gets anything.

LC:

ZM:

LC:

ZM:

LC: [Sighing] Thank you, Mr. Malik, this has certainly been enlightening. Someone will send you a copy of the magazine when your interview is published.

As I’m sad to report, the fame has clearly gone to Zayn’s head. The sweet Bradford boy we once knew on the Chris Glass morning show is now nothing more than a ridiculous, pompous and selfish: just another British wash-up. It’s a shame, really: it could have been fun to see who Zayn could have turned out to be.

(As of June 17, Zayn bought two new cars. A Ferrari and a Bugatti. This was just ten minutes after he tweeted a picture of a sunset with the caption ‘you only need the simplest things in life ; you don’t need anything expensive or flashy to make you happy’.)  
—Laurel Crock

By the time Louis is finished reading, Niall’s face is buried into Zayn’s shoulder, red with laughter and Liam and Harry are actually rolling together on the floor.

“Didn’t I tell you that this was excellent?” Niall says between chuckles. Liam and Harry get up from the floor as Zayn speaks up.

“Laurel did an excellent job of making me sound like a complete asshole,” Zayn says, smiling a little.

“Really?” Louis says. “I couldn’t tell the difference.”

“Haha,” Zayn replies, rolling his eyes at his friend as Niall leans up to kiss his cheek. “It was really nice of her to help me that way; I’ll pay her back somehow.”

“Has Niall’s interview come out yet?” Liam asks, sitting between Louis and Harry on the other couch.

“No, it’s not due for another week,” Niall says, stretching and yawning a bit. He spreads himself out on the couch, his head in Zayn’s lap and his feet hanging off to the side. Zayn smiles down at his boyfriend, who smiles back up at him and presses his fingers to the older boy’s lips.

“Ew,” Harry says, bringing them up and out of their little moment. Zayn looks up, irritated. “Get a room, you two.”

“This is our house,” Zayn and Niall say at exactly the same time. They look at each other and smile a bit before Zayn leans down and plants a little kiss on Niall’s soft pink lips.

“Jesus fuck,” Harry says, standing up and grabbing his coat. “Everyone’s a couple but me. I’m heading out—Liam, Louis, you in or out?” he adds, hand resting unsurely on the door handle.

“No, you go ahead, we’ll stay he—” Louis begins to say, but he’s cut off when Liam elbows him in the ribs and throws a pointed look at Niall and Zayn, who are too busy gazing at each other to notice exactly what is going on.

“On second thought,” he says, “we’ll go with you.” He and Liam quietly stand up and walk out with Harry, shutting the door softly behind them. Niall sits up and kisses Zayn, but not his normal kisses; soft, hot, open-mouthed kisses along his neck and jaw line that hint at something a bit more erotic than just a casual make-out session on the couch.  
Zayn should probably protest, should probably tell Niall not to, and just when he’s about to, Niall finds a special spot beneath his ear and instead of the words no we shouldn’t, he moans instead; loud and animalistic. Niall drove him crazy before but this is entirely different and Jesus fuck is he biting?

“Niall,” Zayn sighs, but it’s more of a moan and he can feel Niall smirking against his skin. “Niall,” he tries again, “we really should st-stop.”

“How about we don’t?” Niall says, unlatching from Zayn’s neck and planting hard, teasing little kisses on his lips. The sound of Niall’s voice like that, huskier and rougher and deeper, creates a tightness in his jeans that rages against his zipper.

And Zayn can’t really understand why he’s protesting to that, but he tries anyway. “Niall—god—I don’t want you to—to do anything you’re not um, not comfortable with,” Zayn says, biting back moans as Niall works his way down, long, callused fingers playing at the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, Zaynie,” Niall says, chuckling a little. “If I wasn’t comfortable, do you think I’d do anything like this?” Zayn feels Niall’s hand ghost over his crotch and he gasps against his will. “Or this?” He feels the zipper on these damn jeans go down teasingly slow, and Niall smirks as he involuntarily bucks up into his hand. “Or how about this?” Niall whispers into his ear, and he gently—very, very gently—slides his hand down down down until he’s cupping Zayn’s cock and the warmth is so good and so right that Zayn actually can’t find it in him to protest.

He lets a gasp slip out of his mouth as Niall squeezes ever so slightly and god, this kid is such a tease it’s fucking ridiculous. Zayn squirms under Niall’s touch, mentally begging for his boxers to be off. Niall’s just teasingly palming him through his boxers and the material’s so thin, but he just wants to feel the warmth of his hand.

Zayn notices that Niall’s hand is shaking ever so slightly. He remembers suddenly that they’ve never quite done this together before, and the thought makes him just as nervous. He sighs and carefully removes Niall’s quivering hand from his pants (his penis begs him not to) and holds his hands. “Are you sure you want to do this, Niall?” he asks, hazel eyes looking for any sign of uncertainty on the beautiful face before him, but all Niall does is nod.

“I swear I’m ready for this, Zayn,” Niall breathes, voice quiet but firm. “All I want is all of you, and I want to show you exactly how much you mean to me.”  
His words are genuine, that much Zayn can tell as he stands up and leads Niall wordlessly to the upstairs bedroom. His cock is straining against his boxers; he needs some sort of release, but he ignores it, holding Niall’s hand as they make their way to the bedroom.

Their room is mostly dark; the sun set long ago, so there’s just dim streetlight coming in through the thin window curtains. Zayn can barely see Niall; just sees the outline of his body and there’s just enough light to tell that the little blonde is blushing. Zayn smiles a bit, extending his hands so that his right hand is pulling him closer and his left hand is caressing Niall’s cheek, stroking idly.

“I love you, Niall,” he says against his lips. Niall’s lips quiver under his own for just a moment before he replies.

“I love you too, Zee.”

For a moment, everything is still, quiet, as Niall’s fingers lace into Zayn’s hair and Zayn’s hands press into the bottom of Niall’s spine, as though to get him even closer, and Zayn thinks that he could just stay like this forever.

But then the kisses are deeper and more passionate, and Niall’s hips are rutting up involuntarily against Zayn’s and they both so desperately want to keep this one, sweet moment where there was nothing but romance—but that goes to hell once they remember how carnally inclined they both are.  
Zayn is the first to break, a hungry growl coming from somewhere in the very back of his throat as he pushes Niall back onto the bed and straddles him, needing some sort of friction to control himself.

Niall moans into his mouth, sending a shiver down Zayn’s spine. Their tongues fight for a moment and Niall lets Zayn win, contenting himself with biting gently on his bottom lip. Their kisses get a little faster, become a little more rushed and Niall’s fingernails are clutching at Zayn’s shirt. Finally getting it, he breaks away, just enough for the blonde to pull off the offending piece of fabric before Zayn latches onto his neck and collarbone and bites hard enough that he’s sure little red-and-purple marks will be bright against pale skin tomorrow morning.

Niall’s moans and little whimpers are enough to get Zayn to start leaking and he seriously doesn’t want to cum before they even get started so he stops kissing Niall (much to the younger boy’s dismay) and tugs at his clothing, unsure of which piece of him he wants to unveil first. Niall decides for him, wriggling from underneath Zayn to remove his shirt and his jeans, leaving him in loose boxers; but even then, Zayn can see that Niall’s just as hard as he is.

Zayn smiles and kisses his boyfriend, laying him back down on the bed. Before Niall gets the chance to do anything, though, Zayn whispers wait and reaches into his pants pocket, pulling his phone out. He moves through his songs until he finds the special playlist he’d created just for this moment. The song Dark End of the Street comes up first and he docks his phone into the iHome speaker system he has next to the bed. It’s Zayn’s favorite version of the song, sung by Cat Power, although he thinks it would be even better if Niall sang it. When he turns back to Niall, the Irishman is smiling up at him, eyes half-lidded.

“You have mood music?” he says softly. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” In other circumstances, those words might take a sharp or bitter tone, but now they sound delicate, loving.

“Not at all,” Zayn says as he dips down for another kiss.

This time the kisses are slower, because there’s no rush and they know they have time. They’re both still incredibly hard, but it doesn’t matter at the moment. Their breathing quickens, their faces flush and for a moment, Zayn understands the meaning of making love, because even though he’s always hated the phrase, it doesn’t stand truer than at this moment; they’re literally making love.

The slow beat of the song is perfect for the pace in which their moving, but soon enough, Niall is gasping, pulling at the waistband of Zayn’s jeans. “Please,” he says, his voice hoarse and thick with lust. “Please, Zayn, I need you now—no more of this foreplay shit, I can’t take it.”

And hearing Niall say that makes Zayn thank every star in the fucking sky. He gets up briefly, trying to pull his pants and underwear off as quickly as possible (these damn hipster jeans; they get caught around his ankles and he has to spend thirty slightly-embarrassing seconds manually pulling them off) before he leans over, pulling open his nightstand drawer and rummaging around until he finds what he’s looking for: a small bottle and a small foil package.

Niall notices the condom and looks at it warily, stopping Zayn as he moves to place it on the bed. “Would it be too cheesy to say that, for our first time, I want to feel you? All of you?”

Zayn smiles as he leans down and kisses Niall softly on the forehead, throwing the condom back into the drawer before shutting it. “Not cheesy at all.”

Things are quiet, save for Cat Power’s low voice and the accompanying instruments, as he snaps open the cap of the bottle and tilts it so that cool liquid spreads over two of his fingers.

“This is going to hurt a bit, Nialler baby,” Zayn says softly, lips pressed up against the blonde’s ear.  
Niall chuckles nervously. “I know, Zayn, I’m not a virgin.”

“Yeah—but it feels like it, you know what I mean?” Zayn says, and Niall nods, eyebrows creasing slightly because, yeah, he knows exactly what he means.

Zayn pulls Niall’s boxers down, and he breathes out as cool air hits his cock, which springs up from its confines. Zayn takes a moment, willing himself not to cum at the sight below him; Niall looks debauched, blue eyes wide an pupils blown, with a dirty flush from his hairline to the tips of his toes.

“Ready?” Zayn says once he’s calmed down a bit. Niall nods and tenderly tenderly tenderly Zayn presses a single finger against Niall’s inner thigh and slowly works his way in, kissing the boy beneath him and biting back a moan as he feels tight heat around his finger. He pushes passed the first ring of muscle and Niall gives a gasp, hips bucking involuntarily.

“You ok?” Zayn whispers against Niall’s mouth as he pushes in further. Niall nods vigorously, panting slightly and Zayn sings along with the song.

At the dark end of the street  
That’s where we will always meet  
Hiding in shadows where we don’t belong  
Living in darkness to right our wrong

You and me at the dark end of the street  
You and me

I know time’s gonna take its toll  
We have to pay for the love we stole  
It’s a sin, and we know it’s wrong  
But our love keeps comin’ on strong

 

After a few minutes, Zayn adds a second finger, and when he hears Niall’s stifled gasp of pain, he stops and gives him time to adjust. Only a second after, though, Niall nudges Zayn.

“Keep going,” he says, teeth digging into his lower lip. “I’ll be fine, just, please—keep singing, Zaynie.”

So Zayn does, pushing the additional finger in further while he sings along with Cat.

And the daylight cover rolls around  
And if by chance we’re both taken in and taken downtown  
But if we should meet before then, just walk on by  
Oh sweet baby, please don’t you cry

Cuz tonight, we’ll share the same dream  
At the dark end of the street  
You and me  
You and me  
You and me  
At the dark end of the street

He’s scissoring into Niall and the gasps that were once of pain are now of pleasure. Niall’s hips are bucking erratically and he’s trying to force himself farther down onto Zayn’s fingers, although they’re as deep as they can get.

Zayn swallows as he accidentally brushes past a little, soft spot that drives Niall crazy, making him moan and clutch at the sheets. Experimentally, he tries it again, and the same thing happens; Niall is pleading helplessly now, and he can’t help but moan at the sound.

“Should we try for three fingers?” he asks, his voice hoarse. Niall shakes his head, breathing deeply.

“No, Zayn, please—” he grasps weakly at he sheets again as Zayn pulls his fingers out “—please, please don’t tease anymore, I need you, I need—”

He gasps again, barely able to form words at this point and Zayn finds that he really, really needs some form of release as well. Quickly, he pulls off his boxers and snaps open the bottle of lube again, applying generously so that penetration is beyond easy. The song on his phone changes, from the Cat Power to Maroon 5’s Secret.

Zayn lines himself up and looks at Niall, one hand at the base and the other hand gripping Niall’s hip hard enough to leave bruises. He’s leaking a little bit of precum and he can feel Niall’s heat from about an inch away and all he wants to do at this point is bury himself deep inside.

But instead of giving in to his desire, he leans down and kisses Niall, who returns the kiss eagerly. “Ready?” he whispers into his mouth.

“Yes,” Niall says back, his voice soft.

Zayn takes a deep breath as he slowly pushes in, gripping his base to keep steady. He hears Niall cry out a little, but he ignores it as he stop for a moment and sings along with Adam Levine.

Watch the sunrise  
Say your goodbyes  
Off we go  
Some conversation  
No contemplation  
Hit the road

Car overheats  
Jump out of my seat  
On the side of the highway, baby  
Our road is long  
Your hold is strong  
Please don’t ever let go, oh no

He’s about halfway in when he feels Niall’s hand on his hip. “Just—” he pants, face red and pupils blown wide open. “Give me a moment, Zayn, please.”

“Of course,” Zayn says through gritted teeth, and he waits a few minutes as Niall adjusts. The heat surrounding his cock is stifling, even if they’ve got another four or five inches to go. The urge to thrust is back again, but he holds himself, opting to kiss Niall’s face and neck until the tiny whimpers of pain are pants of lust. He nods his head and Zayn loses a bit of the self-control he fought so hard to keep, pushing himself all the way in.

He can hardly hold himself up now because of the absolutely heavenly heat, so he just leans over and keeps himself up on his forearms as Niall wraps his legs around Zayn’s waist, trying to get him closer even though he’s already up to the hilt.

I know I don’t know you  
But I want you so bad  
Everyone has a secret  
But can they keep it?  
Oh no they can’t

Zayn moans, loud and instinctive, into Niall’s neck and he slowly starts thrusting, marveling at how tight and hot Niall is and feeling the light graze of blunt fingernails on his back. After a few, quick seconds, he finds a rhythm, snapping his hips once every two seconds or so, pulling out about halfway before pushing forcibly back in.

Niall is moaning heavily beneath him, actual moans and not just the weak pants he’s been giving out before. Zayn is biting back his own noises, partly because he wants to focus more on Niall and partly because he really, really likes hearing the one beneath him moan. A few stifled grunts do escape, however, because Niall’s clenching at all the right times, tight enough to drive Zayn crazy. Niall’s back is arching and he’s tearing away at the skin on Zayn’s back, which hurts to a certain extent but really just adds to his pleasure.

They stay at that pace for a while until Niall throws his head back and a throaty whisper comes from his mouth; the same word over and over again. Faster. Faster. Faster.

And honestly, Zayn’s not too sure that it’s physically possible say no to Niall, so he picks up his speed, hips snapping back and forth as he makes shorter thrusts. Niall’s moans are fuller than ever, mixed in with swear words and phrases Zayn’s actually never heard used in sex before, but they sound so hot coming from Niall’s little pink lips.

I’m driving fast now  
Don’t think I know how  
To go slow

“Jesus Christ, you’re so tight, baby,” Zayn says, throwing his head back and biting his lip. Niall’s hips are coming up to meet his and he’s hitting this little bundle of nerves and everything is just so good at this moment; but Zayn knows he’s going to lose it when Niall’s heels press into his lower back so he’s balls-deep and then he starts clenching and everything is suffocating and wonderful all at the same time.

He doesn’t want to cum first, so he reaches a hand down and quickly starts to jerk off Niall, hoping that the blonde’s just as close as he is. Luckily, he only needs to tug for a few seconds more before Niall’s chest is heaving and he’s saying, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “I’m close, Zee, I—god, I’m close, I—I—”

And there’s a whole second of silence before Niall is letting out one last, erotic moan and is spraying white over both their torsos, chests and necks. Zayn is barely a second after him, and Niall gasps softly at the strange feeling of Zayn cumming inside of him.

Zayn lies on top of Niall, careful not to crush him, with his lips against the other boy’s ear and their chests sticking together in a strange, less-erotic way than before. They both come down from their highs a few minutes later, and Zayn pulls out, careful not to bother Niall in any way (but he still hisses at the sensitivity and the feeling of emptiness suddenly inside him).

“I love you, buttercup,” Niall says, giggling softly as Zayn rolls off of him and onto his side of their bed. He smiles lazily and envelopes Niall into his body so that they’re spooning (which should be a little gross; there’s cum everywhere because Niall sprays).

“I love you too, Nialler baby.” And really, Zayn would love to talk and kiss more, but he’s exhausted, and at that moment the song Until the End of Time by Justin Timberlake comes on, just a little bit later than he would have liked, but the moment’s still right for it; so they fall asleep to that song instead.

***

Zayn wakes up before Niall, and spends about fifteen minutes just watching Niall sleep, because (he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop thinking this) Niall looks just like a resting angel.

After a while he starts kissing him languidly, his lips or his eyelids or his cheeks and soon enough, Niall is waking up and kissing back and that’s pretty much all they do for the rest of the morning, just kiss and smile stupidly at each other and kiss some more.

When they do get up, it’s because Zayn remembers that they only have two more steps to go. When he brings this up, Niall’s eyes go wide as he realizes the same.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” he says, voice soft as Zayn kisses him on the top of his head.

“I get what you mean,” he agrees. It seems like just yesterday that it was November, seems like just a moment ago that Zayn was laughing at Niall’s idea. Now he almost doesn’t want it to end; The Asshole List, no matter how crude its name, is part of what made him fall in love with Niall.

Niall notices Zayn look a little forlorn and smiles, planting a soft, light kiss on his mouth. “You’re going to miss this, aren’t you? Living in the big, fancy house and having millions of fans and getting stopped in the street for a photo?”

Zayn nods begrudgingly and Niall sighs. “I am, too. It kind of sucks that we have to end off on this sour note, you know? Leaving with everyone thinking that we’re total assholes.”

“That was kind of the point of the list,” Zayn says thoughtfully.

“I know.”

There’s a beat of silence before Zayn asks the question that’s been on his mind since November.

“Why did you come up with the list, Niall?”

Niall actually looks like he’s thinking it over, but he’s not fooling Zayn; he knows that he’s had the answer on the tip of his tongue for nearly a year.

“I guess—” Niall starts haltingly. “I guess I did mean it as a joke, when I was thinking about it by myself. I never really thought you’d actually go for it, though. Maybe I was hoping you’d go for it. I was never really serious about my music career, I guess. I’d always just dick around about it, telling people that I was going to be a professional singer but—well, you know how hard it is to be successful in the arts. There’s tons of rejection and withdrawal and most of the people who are aspiring are straight from university with no backup plan, and pretty soon a lot of them just end up with no source of income, no job, with no life and into some pretty intense drugs. I just never wanted to be like that, Zee.

“So yeah, when I created the list I was sort of hoping you’d go for it and also hoping that you’d take it as a joke and say no, because I didn’t want us to fail and become one of them. But then you said yes and we were successful from the start and I didn’t want it to end because we were doing so well.” Niall is biting his lip thoughtfully before he continues.

“I want to tell you some profound reason that I made the list,” Niall says, a half-smile on his lips. “Like that I was inspired to prove everyone wrong and make my own luck in this world. Or that I knew I would do it in the end. Or that I wanted to focus on my schooling, but get this out of the way, but really it’s none of that: I think I just wanted to not know where I’m going in life. I just wanted everything to be something of a mystery, you know? And if it turns out that I was meant to do something small and regular, then so be it. At least I tried, and I did it with my best friend.”

Zayn smiles at Niall, a giant grin crinkling his eyes and he leans over and kisses Niall. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that was very profound.” Niall laughs then, throwing his head back and languidly kissing him back.

“Should we get up now?” Niall says after a few moments. Zayn sighs as he reaches for his phone to check the time: 1:13.

“Yeah, probably,” he says, throwing off his sheets. “Got to get started on the whole plotting-our-demise thing.” He vaguely wonders why his chest feels so sticky and he looks around the room, blushing as he finds remnants of the night before. They made quite a mess of things, clothes strewn on the floor, sheets wrinkled and even torn in some places and not to mention the stains that would surely draw suspicion to anyone who might venture into the bedroom. Niall looks around the room as well and blushes deeply, burying his face into Zayn’s shoulder and groaning.

“We’re going to have to clean this up, aren’t we?” Niall says. Zayn laughs as he holds the younger boy in his arms.

“No one else here, babe,” he says, kissing the top of his forehead. “Can you walk?” he adds cheekily, getting out of the bed and looking over his shoulder at Niall.

He snorts in derision, rolling his eyes. “You wish I couldn’t walk.”

“Fine, then,” Zayn says, walking by himself to the bathroom. He hears Niall’s gasp of surprise and then—

“No! Ok, look, I’m sorry, it really does hurt to walk, Zaynie. Please come back and carry me, I really won’t be able to get up.”

So Zayn (he was never really going to leave Niall to fend for himself) goes back to the bed and carries the blonde bridal style all the way to the shower.

***

They stay in the shower for about two hours (as it turns out, when Niall’s thankful, he’s extremely good with his mouth), and when they finally do end up getting out, they’re both wrinkly and wet and (morally) dirtier than when they got in.

As soon as they manage to put some clothes on (it’s surprisingly hard to do when you just want to be naked and make out and maybe fuck again), they head downstairs with a pile of notebook paper and a pencil each so they can start figuring out how to complete the final step. They brainstorm several different ideas; most of them drastic and laughable, although there were the rare few that, theoretically, were quite possible, but not probable to work.

(They do keep coming up with ideas, or at least they try; they aren’t very successful in that respect, but they do end up having sex against the coffee table, and that’s an accomplishment, if you ask Zayn, because neither boy was sure that the tiny table would hold their combined weight.)

When Zayn checks the clock again, it’s nearly ten o’clock at night and Niall is fighting to keep his eyes open. It’s not the lateness that’s getting to him, Zayn knows; it’s the exhaustion of coming up with absolutely nothing that will work to their expectations.

Zayn sighs, yawning as he pulls Niall closer so that he’s on his lap and cradles him into his chest. He wants to fall asleep, too, right here on the floor in front of the couch with Niall in his arms, but he also knows that the hardwood floor is going to kill his back and besides, the thick, seventies-style shag carpeting in the rest of the house is kind of disgusting.

“Nialler?” he whispers, pressing his lips softly to Niall’s hair. “Baby? Are you asleep?”

“No, I’m not,” Niall responds, but he’s almost there; from the slow, sleepy drawl of his words, Zayn can tell he’s close to falling asleep.

“Maybe we should just keep going tomorrow?” Zayn suggests, the end of his sentence rising like it’s a question. Niall reaches up a hand and rubs his eye, looking so endearingly like a child trying to convince his parents that he’s not tired at all.

“We have to do this tonight,” Niall says firmly, pouting a bit.

“We’ll always have tomorrow, I promise,” Zayn says with a touch of finality in his tone as he stands up, picking Niall up with him. Niall tucks his head into Zayn’s neck and wraps his legs around his waist and just sort of wails.

“I love you, Zee,” he says sleepily as Zayn flicks off the living room light and slowly walks them both upstairs.

Zayn smiles; he smiles every time he hears him say that, no matter how many times he hears it. It just makes him happy to know that Niall loves him just as much as he loves Niall. “I love you, too, Nialler baby.” (And he can feel Niall smile against his neck when he says it.)

By the time they actually reach the bedroom, Niall is knocked out, asleep in Zayn’s arms. Honestly it doesn’t bother him; he could spend the rest of his life just carrying Niall upstairs and tucking him into bed and kissing him goodnight and—

Well, he could spend the rest of his life with Niall.

He crawls into bed after he’s sure that Niall’s comfortable, and then runs his fingers along the boy’s arm, which reminds him of a certain time not too long ago. “I love you,” he whispers again, and he can’t stop saying it once he starts. “I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.”

Zayn’s not sure when he falls asleep, but he knows the exact moment when he wakes up, because Niall is shaking him awake. It’s still dark, he can tell; the clock on the nightstand reads 3:42, and there’s an urgency in Niall’s eyes that makes him panic.

“Zayn!” Niall says, and from his tone, it sounds like it isn’t the first time he’s called his name.

“Is something wrong, love?” Zayn says as he quickly sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to sound as alert as possible.

“No, no, don’t worry,” Niall assures him quickly, realizing how terrifying that might have sounded. “I’m fine everything’s fine, it’s just—I got it.”

“Got what, babe?”

“I know how we can complete the last step, I’ve got it now,” Niall says, whispering excitedly. It takes Zayn a moment to remember what the hell he’s talking about, and it’s another moment before the thought can process. When it does finally register to Zayn that Niall’s figured the last step, he sits up quickly, an ecstatic grin on his features.

“You have it?” he says, his voice suddenly hushed. “Seriously, you know what it is?”

Niall nods eagerly, leaping out of bed and grabbing the stack of paper from the nightstand, along with a pencil. “Come on, Zayn!”

“What? Nialler, baby, where are we going?” Zayn says bewilderedly, getting slowly out of the bed. Niall stops, just for a moment, to turn around and roll his eyes at him (and he thought Louis was sassy).

“We are going downstairs and then you are going to write it down for me before I forget it completely, and I am going to watch you,” Niall says, running down the stairs before Zayn can reply.

He scrambles out of bed, catching up to Niall before he’s even halfway down the stairs. “Why do I have to write it, Niall?” he whines as he loops his arms around Niall’s waist.

“Because I might promise to ride you on the coffee table if you do,” Niall says sweetly. Zayn almost trips over a step and swallows, breath a little shallower than before.

“Might promise?” he asks.

“Ok, ok,” Niall says airily, waving the hand that isn’t occupied by the small pile of paper. “Will promise.”

When he says that, of course Zayn agrees because there will never be a time where he’s not down for Niall riding him on the coffee table (which has already been proved able to support a lot of weight).

After about two hours, three cups of coffee and six sheets of paper (completely used front and back) it’s finished, and Zayn has to admit, that, even with his sleep-fogged, five-in-the-morning brain, this is the most elaborate plan he’s ever heard. He rubs his right wrist slowly, looking over at the six, slightly smudged sheets before him.

“This,” he says slowly, after they’ve read and reread and reread again, “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, ever.”

Niall nods from his place next on the couch, an exhausted, satisfied sort of smile. “I know, Zee. But god, this is going to be so worth it, seeing everyone’s faces in the end.”

“We’ve got to tell some people, though,” Zayn says reasonably. “Like the boys and our families, you know? So that we don’t end up with a bunch of phone calls because we did—well, this—for millions of people to see.”

“Yeah, ok,” Niall agrees, yawning through his words, and he looks so adorable, with his hair sticking up and his hands balled up to press the last bits of tire from his eye that Zayn just sort of smiles.

“Do you actually think this is going to work?” Zayn asks, and Niall rolls his eyes again.

“Of course it will, Zee,” Niall says, blue eyes brighter than ever. “It has to. Unless it doesn’t. But don’t worry, because it will.”

Niall stands up, smiling a little mischievously as he sits down with Zayn on the floor in front of the couch.

“Still up for that riding session?”

(The table, as it turns out, is not sturdy enough for two consecutive rounds.)

———————

The first thing they need to execute their master plan is a large case of fireworks.

Harry, thankfully, has a best friend named Ed, who he shares a few bro-tattoos with. Ed, has a cousin who has a half-sister, who is best friends with the daughter of one of the largest firework distributors in the world, who happened to go on a date with Zayn’s mother years before she met his father.

“So he practically owes us, you see,” Zayn says after he explains this all to a laughing Niall.

There are still several things on the list, less extravagant but still as—ahem—showy (Zayn’s not too sure about the g-string, but he’s immediately onboard once Niall suggests that perhaps he ought to wear it instead; no one’s seeing that perky little bum but him).

By the end of the week they’ve told everyone who was mildly important about the plan (although Zayn’s parents aren’t too pleased about the g-string business), and all the equipment needed is packed and on-hand, ready for use.

The night before, Zayn and Niall can’t sleep. It’s not a nervous can’t-sleep, or even an excited sort of can’t-sleep; their minds just refuse to shut down.

“What if it all goes wrong?” Niall says suddenly. They’re lying on the bed in complete darkness, trying to shut their minds off long enough to fall asleep, but to no avail. The sheets are either too hot or there’s too much noise or they’re hungry and nothing is helping them sleep.

“What if what goes wrong?” Zayn says, although he knows exactly what Niall means.

“The plan, Zayn,” Niall says, shifting uncomfortably to face Zayn. “What if the fireworks don’t go off at the right moment? What if it’s too late and everyone’s already decided to give up on us?”

Zayn leans over and places a light kiss on his lips; not erotic or particularly passionate, as far as kisses go: just assuring.

“It’s going to work out, Niall,” he whispers, and although he’s not positive, he needs to stay strong for his boyfriend. “This is the best plan—outside of a superhero movie—that I have ever heard. You don’t have to worry about a thing, because Harry and Liam and Louis are all going to make sure that this entire plan goes off without a hitch.”

“I just think we might need more time, you know? To make sure everything goes perfectly right?”

“I don’t think so,” Zayn says, frowning a bit. “If we don’t do it tomorrow, live and when we have the chance, we never will.”

Niall doesn’t respond immediately, so Zayn reaches out to run his thumb along his cheekbone. “I love you, Niall,” he says softly. “It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t work, because we’ll find a way.”

“I love you too, Zee,” Niall says. “I just really need this to work the very first time around.”

“Would it be so bad?” Zayn asks after a tentative moment. “If we didn’t do the last step, I mean?”

Niall swallows, seemingly weighing out the options in his head. “I think it would,” he says after a few moments, “because we’ve already fucked up the public opinion of us, with the way we’ve been acting. And besides, I don’t think I could stand a ‘celebrity relationship’, you know? Too much pressure to be the ideal, perfect couple and not enough time to ourselves.”

Zayn nods, understanding but a bit sad that this is the way their fame is going to end. “We had a good run,” he says, to which Niall smiles.

“You sound like you’re breaking up with me,” Niall says and Zayn leans in and kisses him slow and passionate and assuring.

“No,” he says after they pull apart, and Niall’s eyes are closed. “Never.”

***

They have to wake up at three in the morning, because the fireworks are gigantic and need space and preparation. They don’t quite have any permission to light them up, which is something they realize long after they’ve gotten to the London Eye, but seeing as it’s too late now, they just decide to wing it.

Louis and Liam meet them outside their apartment at four in the morning in sweatshirts and Converse, a look of similar exhaustion on their faces.

“God, Niall,” Louis says as he and Liam lead Zayn and Niall back to their car, “this plan of yours better fucking work, it’s too early for this kind of thing.”

Zayn make to grab Niall’s hand as he watches him pale slightly, but Niall just moves out of his reach, not wanting to be touched. He turns to Louis and glares down at him, murmuring thanks, asshole, as he continues to try to console his boyfriend.

The trip to the London Eye is a short one, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, so no one has to deal with Louis muttering under his breath about the ‘fucking teenagers who can’t drive’ (Liam just silently watches him rant with a look of pure adoration etched on his face, and there’s a permanent smile on his face as he reaches for Louis’ hand and runs his fingers over his knuckles to soothe him. Louis, in turn, immediately quiets and smiles at Liam and something about the sight is so endearingly and annoyingly sappy and Zayn can’t help but wonder if he and Niall ever look like that to other people).

They’re not even out of the car yet before Zayn sees the giant car next to the Ferris wheel, and instantaneously he knows that those are their explosives.

He nudges Niall and points to his window. “That’s us, isn’t it?” Niall’s face breaks into a big smile and he looks at Zayn, trying his hardest not to start squealing in delight because hey, this might actually work.

They both get out of the car and Louis and Liam both go find a place to park (or maybe fuck, Zayn’s not completely sure of what they’re saying anymore) and practically run to the giant black SUV near Ferris wheel.

There’s a man standing next to the car rather suspiciously, wearing a suit and talking on the phone; for a moment Zayn has to legitimately wonder if he’s stumbled into a James Bond movie.

“Are you Zayn?” the guy says as they approach, looking at Zayn.

“Yeah, that’s me mate,” Zayn says, feeling like an awful primetime crime film. “You got the stuff?”

(And ok, that part was just for fun, but now he really feels like he’s in an awful primetime crime film.)

“Yeah I’ve got the stuff,” the man says gruffly and he opens the trunk of the car to reveal just what they’d ordered: 60 cases of aerials, ten 150 shot barrages, 20 crackles, 50 firecrackers and 75 fountains, giving them a grand total of 355 explosives or one big mess.

“Thanks a lot, man,” Zayn says, and next to him Niall lets out a low whistle at the view of all the fireworks. “Your boss already told you about this whole situation, right? That we don’t need to pay you?”

The man rolls his eyes, flexing a bit. “Of course I know. Listen, you gonna get this stuff outta my car? I got stuff to do.”

“Stuff,” Zayn repeats, nodding his head. “Right, of course.” Zayn and Niall quickly start removing boxes from the back of the car and are finished just before Louis and Liam get back from the parking the car (and sure enough, their faces are a bit pink and Liam as the most ridiculous satisfied smirk on his face, and it takes all of Zayn’s self control not to roll his eyes at them).

“This it?” Louis says, obviously wanting to avoid questions about him and Liam. Zayn decides to let it go—for now.

“Yeah this is it,” Zayn says, and he motions toward the boxes. “Help us carry these. We’re gonna place these around the wheel.”

Louis groans a bit—the thought of bending down is probably too much work right now—but helps anyway, grabbing a heavy box. He frowns a bit, turning to Zayn. “Where do we put them?”

“Find four points,” Zayn says after a moment of thinking. “Try to get them as far away as possible, but still, keep them hidden, and not too close to the water. People might get suspicious if they’re walking passed boxes marked fireworks.”

Louis and Liam both nod, and Liam picks a big box and makes his way in the direction opposite of Louis. Zayn and Niall are left with the additional, smaller boxes. Niall looks at Zayn and gives him a small smile, but Zayn’s not letting him off that easily. He reaches out and pulls Niall close by the hand, kissing him softly. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” Niall says. “I’m ok.”

“Everything’s going to work out, Nialler baby,” he says, pulling Niall into a brief hug before bending down to pick up a few more explosives. Niall nods slowly, almost uncertainly, so Zayn leans in and plants a light kiss on his lips.

“I love you,” he says as he walks away from Niall to find a good spot for the fireworks. “Everything’s going to work out, baby, I promise, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Niall says, and Zayn smiles; he’s really not sure if this plan is going to work at all, but a promise is a promise.

***

It’s noon by the time they’re done. Harry arrives by eleven to help them set up, although he really doesn’t do much (just brings a stool for Niall and the matches and sparklers for the crowd; they’re finished by the time he does arrive). He brings good news, though; Humble! Management has signed him for a three-year record deal. The other four boys congratulate him, and Harry is so happy he’s close to tears.

They get lunch quickly, and by the time one o’clock rolls around, there is a long queue to ride the Eye and Zayn needs to get dressed (or rather, undressed). Harry brings the barstool and sets it next to the line (that’s part of the plan; Niall’s going to play the guitar and sing for the crowd while Zayn dances around in a bright red g-string. More or less the epitome of name-shaming, since there are tons of kids here) and runs back to Louis’ car to get Niall’s guitar.

Niall looks nervous, and Zayn wants to hold his hand out and stroke his palm and comfort him, but he knows that all Niall’s going to do is usher him away and tell him to go change, so instead he sighs and makes his way to the bathrooms.

Liam gave him a towel the night before, so Zayn doesn’t have to walk around in just a g-string (he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t make it three meters before being stopped). He quickly strips out of his clothes, and shudders a little bit as he pulls on the g-string, feeling unbelievably naked with his bum cheeks completely hanging out and the only thing keeping him from pulling the damned thing off is the fact that if he doesn’t wear it, Niall will, and no one is ever seeing Niall so naked again, not unless it’s him.

He quickly exits the bathroom, and he sees Niall sitting on his stool, guitar in his hands as he bites his lip. Zayn walks toward him as quickly as he can, but before he can even reach the blonde, he hears someone calling his name.

“Zayn? Zayn! Zayn Malik!”

He turns around, to see a familiar tiny redhead waving furiously at him, running toward him. “Laurel?” Zayn says as soon as she gets close enough to hear, and sure enough, it’s her, with her green eyes and those ridiculous pencils holding up her hair.

“What are you doing here?” Zayn says, a smile on his lips.

“I’m with my family,” she says dismissively. “My little cousins are going to ride the Ferris wheel. What about you, what are you doing here? And why are you only wearing a towel?”

Quickly Zayn tells Laurel about Niall’s plan and the whole time she can’t stop smiling.

“You’re kidding!” she says and when Zayn shakes his head, she starts laughing. “So you’re telling me, that under that towel, you are wearing a g-string? Like an actual, serious g-string?”

Zayn feels himself blush slightly as he nods yes, and Laurel just laughs harder before stopping abruptly and giving him a soft look.

“That’s so sweet,” she says thoughtfully, “that you would embarrass yourself like this for him. You really love him.”  
Zayn smiles a bit and nods. “Yeah, I do. And seeing you reminds me; thank you so much for that article in Glamour. I know you didn’t have to do that and I never properly thanked you for it.”

Laurel waves a hand unconcernedly. “Really I should be thanking you! They promoted me like crazy after that interview; I got job offers from huge magazines all over the world. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you, so you don’t owe me anything.”

They stand and smile at each other for a moment; Zayn hears someone else calling his name and he turns around to see Harry walking toward them, smiling so wide his dimples are prominent from a mile away.

“Niall’s starting,” he says once he gets close enough and the words are meant for Zayn but somehow he ends up looking at Laurel, who rolls her eyes and looks away in response. Harry just smiles wider. “You know when to come in, right? His mic is set up so all you have to do is your dance.”

“Your g-string dance,” Laurel says, very softly, beside him, and Zayn shoots her a look.

“Right,” Zayn says, breathing out quickly. He turns to Laurel. “Are you going to stay? Or do you have to get back to your family?”

“They’re fine,” Laurel says immediately. “Even if they’re not, I am not going to pass up a public g-string dance.”

“You know,” Harry says with a sly grin as they walk toward the place where Zayn’s supposed to wait for his cue, “I could give you a dance—a little more private, though.”  
Zayn walks ahead, rolling his eyes as he hears Laurel snort and say, “Not interested.”

“But you will be,” Harry says insistently, and Zayn just zones out of their conversation as they get closer.

Niall’s already started and quite a few people have gathered around him. A few are taking pictures or videos, Laurel included, but that’s about to be a lot more. Zayn waves at Niall silently, and Niall sees him, a giant grin splitting his face as he sings Baobabs:

You have tamed me  
Now you must take me  
How am I supposed to be  
I don’t have my thorns now  
I feel them sprouting  
They’ll grow right through if I don’t watch it  
They’ll grow right through even if I watch it  
And a sunset couldn’t save me now

These baobabs and baobabs and baobabs some more  
But you can’t outwait fate

And you have tamed me  
Now you must take me

And Zayn drops his towel, along with the rest of his clothes, on the ground and walks up until he’s right next to Niall in his little red underwear. Most of the crowd gasps (he hears someone shout is that Zayn Malik?) and Niall turns slightly, smiling a bit (ok, a lot); he keeps singing, never missing a beat as Zayn starts to shake his bum a little.

And I wouldn’t raise my child inside this city anyway  
They grow up too savvy and they grow up too fast  
And they know about buying shit and they know about sex  
And they know about investment banking and also about brokerage firms  
And they know about the numbers and they know about the words  
And they know about the bottom line and also about stones  
And they know about careers and about real deals  
And they all grow up and become people’s people with people skills

But you have tamed me  
Now you must take me  
How am I supposed to be  
I don’t have my thorns now

At this point, Zayn is full on dancing quite suggestively around Niall, and there’s a crowd of at least 500 people surrounding them on all sides. The fireworks have gone off beautifully, exploding everywhere around the Ferris wheel. Many in the crowd are laughing or taking pictures or filming, some with waving lighters in the air (courtesy of one Harry Styles). Some are in complete shock (his ass is sort of hanging out, after all) but there is no doubt in his mind that most people won’t want much to do with them after this, and in his head he thinks: Ten down. We did it.

He smiles knowing that they did just that.

Louis, Liam, Harry and Laurel are all laughing and filming and Zayn can’t help but think that while it’s impossible to say no to Niall, he probably never would have done this for anyone else.

Niall ends the song, and the audience claps, laughing or otherwise covering the eyes of young loved ones. Zayn grabs Niall by the hand and pulls him off the stool and hugs him tight, laughing with him as he spins them around a bit. Niall’s laughs vibrate in his chest and everything just feels so right at this moment.

“I love you,” Zayn says quietly, so that only Niall can hear, and Niall lifts his head and smiles.

“I love you, too, Zee,” he says, and at this moment, when they’re having the time of their lives, Zayn doesn’t care what anyone thinks, so he tilts Niall’s head up slightly and locks his lips with his.

The kiss probably lasts for about two seconds in silence before they hear shouts; neither boy is sure if the shouts are of approval or not, but again, it honestly doesn’t matter.

“Excuse me, sir,” someone says. Zayn ignores him until he feels a polite tap on his shoulder. He turns around and he’s face to face with a police officer.

“What can I do for you, officer?” he says, keeping a hold on Niall’s hand.

The policeman looks rather uncomfortable, most likely because Zayn is more or less naked, but he ventures on anyway. “You’re going to have to come to the station with me.  
Most of this really isn’t legal.”

Zayn nods thoughtfully before asking, “What are the charges?”

“Uh—” the constable looks around “—off the top of my head I can name you public disturbance, illegal fireworks and public nudity.”

“I’m not nude,” Zayn says defiantly. The officer looks at him helplessly, letting out a breath.

“C’mon, mate…don’t make me say it.”

“Fine, then.” Zayn turns to Niall and kisses him on the cheek. Niall is biting the inside of his cheek trying not to laugh, and Zayn whispers, “Ask Louis or Liam to bail me out, ok? Haven’t got a cent on me. See you, baby.”

He turns back to the officer and walks quietly back to the car with him. The policeman’s about to unlock the door when he suddenly stops and looks a bit pleadingly at Zayn. “Do you want to put some pants on, mate?”

“Why no,” Zayn says cheerfully. “No, I don’t. Took a lot of courage to put this g-string on. Body confidence issues, you know the type. No, I think I’ll keep my pants off, thanks.”

“I just—” The officer looks incredibly defeated, and he almost feels bad. “Please?”

“No.” And with that, Zayn climbs into the cop car and waits patiently for the officer to drive him away.

———————

It’s a few hours later, maybe three or four in the afternoon, when Liam, Louis, Harry, Laurel and Niall finally make it too the police station. Honestly the cell wasn’t all that bad: it was just Zayn and the officer, and the officer can’t properly look Zayn in the eye, so he occupies himself by dancing a little through the jail cell bars. It’s quite a lot of fun to see the officer squirm.

The other five arrive laughing and Niall’s eyes light up like the sun when he sees Zayn. He immediately rushes to Zayn’s cell and puts a hand through the bars of the cell as Liam works out the bail with the officer. “Hey,” he says softly, touching his hand, and Zayn interlinks their fingers.

“Hey.” They don’t say anything, just stare into each other’s eyes and Zayn can hear Harry still trying to woo Laurel.

“I like girls, Harry!” Laurel says in a fit of frustration. Harry looks affronted for a moment before rolling his eyes.

“Well that’s fine,” he says. “I quite like dick, thank you very much. I was just wondering if you had a brother. Rather presumptuous to think I’m into you isn’t it?”

Laurel rolls her own eyes and Louis laughs. “How are you doing in there, Zayn?” she says, turning from Harry completely.

Zayn looks up from Niall’s baby blues. “Quite well, Laurel. Unfortunately I have to go to court for these charges. Doesn’t that suck?”

The constable waddles over and unlocks his jail cell door. “Look, son,” he says shifting uncomfortably. I’ll drop the charges if you just pay a fine and—please, for the love of all things holy, put some pants on.”

Zayn agrees as the others laugh, and he gets his ticket to pay his fine. Liam hands him his pants back and he pulls them on, walking out of the station with the others. Niall holds his hand tightly the entire way to the car. They drop Laurel back off with her family at the Eye, and then they drop Zayn and Niall off at their flat (apparently Louis and Liam have some stuff to do—probably fuck).

When Niall unlocks the door, Zayn walks in and just hugs Niall, lifting him up. Niall pulls him closer, wrapping his legs around Zayn’s waist and burrowing his face in his neck.

“I still can’t believe it’s over. We finished the list.”

“We finished the list,” Zayn repeats and Niall pulls back and smiles and kisses Zayn softly.

For the rest of his life, he could do this, really. He doesn’t need money, and he doesn’t need fame and he doesn’t need interviews and expensive things and fans, although fans are quite nice.

For the rest of his life, he could kiss Niall against walls and wake up to Mr. Sunshine and Smiles himself and laugh with him and smell him and just be with him forever.

Because really, all Zayn needs is Niall.


End file.
